The 220th Hunger Games: The Test of Survival
by ElyseWrites
Summary: You can win, but to do that, you can't keep yourself. Who will prevail in this test of survival, skill, and wit? Rated T because its the Hunger Games
1. The President

**Author's Note: Hey guys! Thank you for all of you who submitted your amazing tributes! However, as you all know, my previous SYOT was reported and taken down, so in this one I will be using the same tributes. Enjoy!**

***Please do not swear in your comments, PMs, or submissions**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games. I wish I did….**

Head Gamemaker POV

My pen scratches the paper, forming the rough outline of a mutation. It begins to come alive on the paper, with its beady eyes, steel talons, snarling lips… The sound of somebody clearing her throat directly above me startles me into looking up. When I do, all I see is the perfectly smooth face of President Cornelia, her eyes bearing a glint of malice.

"Hello, Ordinata," she says in a calm voice that gives no hint to her emotions. "I assume that the planning of the Games is coming along well?" I nod, but before I could even begin to reply, she speaks again. "You know that this year, I'm expecting a lot out of you, more so than the past years. Due to the rebellion, of course."

I'm finally able to get a word in. "But the rebellion was seven years ago!" I exclaim. "Why this year?" It is then that I remember the Games between now and the rebellion. Long, drawn out Games that could hardly be considered entertainment by Capitol standards, and did nothing to completely quell the still existing flames of rebel spirit. She must have seen the look of realization dawn on my face, for she smiles a smile that a kindergarten teacher would have when the class finally memorizes the alphabet.

"And," she continues, "I am sure that you are more than aware where the Gamemakers of those years are, along with your dear great-grandfather?" Yes, I do know where they are. When I agreed to apply for Head Gamemaker, my family made the consequences of what could happen all too clear, using my great-grandfather, Seneca Crane, as the prime example. The message was: If you are too nice, too merciful, or in other words too _human_, than you will end up as a cold corpse, just like the children who it is _your _job to torture.

Her voice calling "Ordinata!" reminds me to answer. "Yes, I say. "I am aware." She gives me that smile again.

"I don't think that you would like to end up like them, do you?" I shake my head no. "Because I'll have you know, I was quite wary to give another Crane the chance to be Head Gamemaker, after learning about what had happened in the 74th Hunger Games. However, when I read your application, and saw your interview, you seemed ready to me, like you were up for it and could produce great things. I thought, 'She can be the one to extinguish the flames forever with her Games.' I still see that in you, and the last thing I would want is for that vision of you to disappear.' Her smile vanishes. "So _don't_ disappoint me."

I'm prepared to give her a lengthy overview of what I have already accomplished in preparation for the Games, and that I had already drawn the arena and several mutations, but with that, she turns on her heel and is gone. Although our exchange was a few minutes at most, it felt like hours, and I'm left sitting here to absorb her words. President Cornelia's last sentence is ringing in my ears, bouncing of the walls of my skull: _So don't disappoint me. _I snap back to reality muttering one phrase: I am Ordinata Crane, and I will produce the most spectacular Hunger Games that Panem has ever seen.

**I hope you liked it! Sorry it was so short, but the reaping chapters will be longer. R&R!**


	2. A Need for Vengeance: D1F

**Author's Note: Hey guys! So we're on to our first reaping chapter! I've decided to do each character separately so you can get a feel for their personalities and decide who you want to win. I'd like to thank Katnissfire87654 for this wonderful tribute!**

**Ramira Fortez, Age 18, District 1 Female**

Quentin is running through the forest. Extremely fast, as if running for his very life. He is. He keeps sprinting, looking over his shoulder every few seconds, checking how close his predators are. Suddenly, his foot gets entangled in the underbrush and he falls. The vines slowly wind around his limbs, and they threaten to choke him. As he struggles against the leathery plants, they only seem to grow tighter. The pounding of loud footsteps arise, not too far off, and then they are obscured by nothing. They have reached him. Quentin thrashes even harder, more desperately in his bindings when he sees first the shadow, then a face loom over him, grinning maniacally.

What happens from there is a blur. The monstrous male brandishes his wickedly sharp sword, holding it out in front of Quentin to taunt him. Then, the real sport of the Games, the real entertainment for the Capitol citizens, begins. The blade starts carving pictures in Quentin's stomach, crude stick figures of death and pain. He screeches in pain, but the torturer's grin is still plastered on his face. Slowly, Quentin's extremities are amputated one by one, next his arms, his legs. By now, he is virtually dead and unconscious, but his heart is still thumping. When the Career finally wants to end his pain, or has a lack of other things to cut off (most likely the latter), his head is decapitated, and the cannon fires.

I jolt awake, covered in a cold sweat, murmuring my brother's name although I hadn't realized it. This was probably the billionth time I've relived his last moments in the 219th Hunger Games. This is why today is the day. The day when I, Ramira Fortez, am going to volunteer for my last reaping day. To avenge him. To make sure that no one can forget him and reassure myself that his death wasn't for nothing. If I can come home and be victor, I will have won for the both of us. And I think I have a chance. I'm a far cry from one of those tributes who volunteer blindly. I'm good with a bow and arrow, and exceptional with a spear. I definitely can pull through. I'm not one to doubt my abilities.

"Ramira!" My mom's voice calls from the kitchen. "Get ready for the reaping!" Her voice sounds pained, and I am positive that she, too, is having flashbacks of that awful day exactly a year ago. I know she couldn't bear losing another child to the Games. She already lost a husband, too, to pneumonia a few years back. I still long for his sturdy hands to caress my face, singing me songs and laughing. She doesn't know about my plans yet. I feel a pang of guilt. Wait, no, it feels as if guilt is slowly eating me up from the inside out. But I grit my teeth and remind myself that if I want Quentin to have died with honor, then this is what I have to do.

I ruffle through my drawers to find my favorite dress, made with a beautiful aqua fabric that brings out my deep blue eyes. I pull it on, and comb out my long blonde hair. It's usually up in a braid to draw more attention to my chiseled features, but it looks more formal flowing. I remember my shimmery rhinestone leaf hairclip; an heirloom passed down to me by my grandmother, and put it in my hair. I just can't help it; I stare into my mirror for five minutes. I just look so perfect. Well, I always do, but today more so. I have to admit it: I'm perfect inside out. Cool, popular, _pretty, _smart, fast, witty, charming, you name it. Some people act as if I'm mean to them, but they're just jealous. I mean, who wouldn't be? I run down the stairs of our two story house, which is a special thing in any of the districts, and go to meet my mother.

"You look beautiful", my mother sighs, tears in her eyes. "If only it just wasn't today…" I allow myself to indulge in her compliment, and then remind myself to not let her get to me. I wouldn't want to back away from what I'm about to do. My two little sisters bound in from the living room, faces alight with excitement for their first reaping. They still haven't gotten the message that The Hunger Games are _bad, _and that they killed their older brother. They weren't that close with him anyway, but still. I would do anything to protect them, and make sure that their unrelenting bubbly attitudes are never changed.

"Look at my dress!" Ruby exclaims, twirling around. "Isn't it just, so… so _pretty?"_ I suppress a smile at my sister's carefree disposition, and agree because it is quite attractive. It was a soft pink with lace around the collar, and ruffles at the hem. Sapphire's was identical in style, but lavender instead. "Let's_ go_, Mom," Sapphire whined. "We don't want to be late for our first reaping."

While we walk to the square, we get stopped many times by friends. Being one of the richest families in District 1, we're guaranteed socialites. I chat with my numerous friends and acquaintances, while my mother gossips with hers. She may be depressed and grieving in the privacy of our household, but in public she's the biggest gossip in the district. Everybody croons over my dress, and I smile politely. I expected nothing less.

However, some give me dirty looks, which I'm more than happy to return. Is it _my _fault if their fashions were so awful that I couldn't help but give them some advice? It was to their benefit, if you ask me. Some people are just so ungrateful. When we, as in my family and the ever-growing group of people around us, reach the square, the camera crews and Peacekeepers have just finished setting up. I go sign in and have the Capitol people draw a blood sample. I do not wince, but I see twelve year olds hysterical about the needle and the prospect of being shipped away. Thank goodness that wasn't me, for I was much stronger. I wave good-bye to my "friends" as we each disappear into the huge population of our district.

Something catches on my arms. I turn around and see Ruby and Sapphire each clinging to one of them. "We… we won't get picked, right?" asks Sapphire. "If you've managed to not get picked all these years, then… since it's our first year…and we didn't take any tesserae…" Huh. Maybe underneath all of that excitement, they were terrified after all. I guess that without all of the joy of dressing up and being "grown-up" enough to go to the reaping, the presence of the moment crushed them. _Well, little sis', _I thought, _Even if you are reaped, you won't have to worry about going. I'll be volunteering. _

"Of course not," I said with a reassuring smile. Ruby and Sapphire returned it and skipped back to the twelve year old section, their loose blond hair flowing in the wind. Suddenly, my ears screamed in protest as microphone feedback pierced the chatter. This meant that the reaping was about to begin.

District 1's escort, Hartania Bauble, walked, or rather, bounced, onto the stage. She was attired in Capitol fashions at its worst, which in other words, is painful to the eyes. Her pink and yellow wig looked like the fluffy cotton candy that only the rich could afford, and fluffy and curly. Her starched dress was an utterly atrocious combination of leopard print, twinkling lights, and ruffles. The Capitol's clothes were just as awful as their outlook on life. "Welcome, District 1!" She trilled in that irritating Capitol accent. "The day has come yet again for 2 lucky tributes to be chosen. Let's bring home a victor for District 1 this year, shall we?" Her comment was greeted with a silence, so hard that it was tangible.

Unfazed by the crowd's refusal to be excited, Hartania continued with a clear of her throat. "Now, the mayor would like to read the Treaty of Treason." She stepped back, and our mayor, a man with a confident demeanor and fine salt and pepper hair, took her place at the podium. He began to drone on in a monotone voice about the events that lead to us standing her today, the events that ultimately lead to two children's untimely deaths. As I listened, my agitation with the Capitol grew until I was about ready to combust, as I always am at this point in the reapings. To hear the Treaty of Treason say that the Capitol was being _fair _and _kind_ to us by bestowing a child killing game was so outrageous it was almost laughable. Of course, only _almost _because I will be one of the tributes in this massacre this year.

When he finishes, Hartania walks to the reaping ball holding the girl's names and says the traditional, "Ladies first!" No one but me dares breathe as her gloved hand reaches in to pull out a name. The naïve girls do not know that I will save them. She unfurls the small slip, and barely has time to read out the name, "Topaz Cortiea," before I smoothly say, "I volunteer." I hear my family gasp, but I tell myself to ignore them. "My name is Ramira Fortez, and I am proud to be a tribute in this year's Hunger Games."

I walk up to the stage calmly, not wanting to come across as a cold-blooded killer or a sniveling wimp. As I climbed up the steps to the stage, Hartania gasped, a gasp that said she realized something. I had a feeling I knew what it was. "You're Quentin Fortez's little sister, aren't you?" She smiled. "He was a strong chap, and made it so far. I thought that he was going to win! You wanted to follow up his legacy, I assume. Well now I'm sure we'll have a victor this year." I keep my face smoothed and clear of emotion, and when she realizes I won't respond, she moves on.

"Now onto the boys." She crosses to the opposite reaping ball and plucks out a name. "Crasseus Drane." A young boy of about 12 walks up to the stage, blood drained from his face and hands clenched at his sides. It doesn't look like he'll be skilled. What was I expecting? Not all tributes can be Career material. I wait for someone to volunteer, but surprisingly, no one does. He will not be accepted into the District 1, 2, and 4 alliance, of that I am certain. He is close to collapsing upon climbing the steps, and is taking his breaths in loud gulps. Why, oh, why did it have to be him? I will make sure he is killed in the bloodbath.

"Congratulations, tributes! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" After Hartania Bauble trills the Hunger games trademark line, we are whisked off into the grand Justice Building. We will have an hour to say our good-byes. I am put into a room so luxurious that I am in awe. My room, that is amazing by District 1 standards, looks like a shack compared to this. Plum colored, silk covered chaises and chairs are in each corner of the room. They are so soft, that I literally sink into it. Rich purple velvet drapes are pulled back to allow the sun to shine through, and gilded gold tables are next to every chair.

I sit and remember the good-byes to Quentin last year. The room wasn't nearly as grand. There was lots of crying, and hugging, and "I love you". It was painful, but I have an instinct that since this is the second child from the Fortez family to enter the Games, these will be a lot worse.

Before I know it, Peacekeepers barge in, with my family in tow. All three of them are shaking with sobs, especially my poor mother. The guilt that I had managed to withhold slams down on me full force. Tears threaten but I force them back. Ruby and Sapphire run into my outstretched arms, and bury their faces in my chest. "Wh-Why couldn't you tell us?" sobbed Sapphire. "Then, m-maybe we could've had time to p-prepare ourselves!" Ruby could only cry. She had always been the more emotional one.

But there was nothing to prepare me for my mother's actions once I diverted my attention from my sisters. She had curled up in a ball, her knees pulled up to her chest. She was convulsing with intense silent sobs. The fact that they were silent made it all the more haunting. I got up and walked to her sofa, my sisters following me. I lightly tapped her shoulder. "Mom?" I said softly. "It's alright. I'm going to come home." Her next words were barely audible. "That's what Quentin said last year," she whispered. "But he never made it back."

That was true. "But I'm prepared," I insisted. "You've seen me with a spear, and I'll get sponsors, and - just trust me. I can do it. If I don't doubt myself, you shouldn't either." Then came the question that I had been dreading ever since I had made my decision. "Why?" I gulped and felt a wave of nausea. "Because I had to avenge him." It was I who was whispering this time. "I couldn't just let them… get away with it. I had to do something." I didn't want to hear my mother's response. It came anyways.

"No, no." She had lifted up her head and was shaking it frantically now. "No. You could have just stayed home, we could have healed together, learned to accept it, move on, lived a normal-"Her brief pause from crying ended, and her tears returned. Now I could hear them, and I questioned if the silent sobs were better after all. I decided to leave her be, because there was nothing I could do to change the situation. As I sat back down and let my sisters clamber onto my lap, I wished my father were here. He would have understood about vengeance, and the need to honor Quentin's death. He was the stronger of my parents, and would be handling it better.

Soon, the Peacekeepers entered and took hold of my family. My mother started to scream, and when she tired, joined the chorus of "I love you" that my sisters started. The last thing I saw was Ruby's retreating hand, reaching out to me. My friends from school followed suit, asking how they could carry on without me to instruct them on clothes and boys. I was touched, and assured them that I would come back to give them that advice. They all offered my tokens, such as friendship bracelets and rings, but I turned them down in favor of my hairclip. After a time, my supply of friends was exhausted, and there was nothing left to do but sit in silence. I began to do something I had never had any intention of letting myself do: regret my choice. But there was no turning back, so all I could do was fight and hope to come out of that arena alive.


	3. Street Rat: D1M

**Author's Note: Hey my fellow Fanfiction readers! I would like to thank myself for coming up with this amazing tribute! I know, it may sound a bit biased to come up with my own tribute, but I was writing Ramira's POV and I realized that I needed a D1 Male so I could write the reaping in full. I was too impatient to wait, so I just had to make up my own. I promise he won't have an unfair advantage or anything. BTW, my self-set deadline for this is the end of summer. Then I'll begin a story of the Hunger Games from Clove's POV. Enjoy!**

**Crasseus Drane, Age 12, District 1 Male**

Life on the streets is far from easy, especially if you are in District 1. Here, street rats are more uncommon than in the poorer districts, so the level of ridicule is much higher. The well-to-do yelling words so horrid that they are just as painful as a knife to the back. Getting rotten fruit and vegetables thrown in my face as I pass by the merchant's stands. None of them know how hard it is, everyday being a struggle to survive. Everyday a battle.

Being in the richest district in all of Panem, one would expect gangs and street fights to be all but extinct. Those people are not aware of how wrong they truly are. All they have to do is look at the grotesque scars on my chest, back, and legs and their assumption would fly out of their mind. Just yesterday I had an unfortunate run in with one of them. Street kids, too. However, contrary to me, they were muscular and strong, just looking for some trouble to get involved in. And judging by the way they were grinning cruelly at me, they had just found what they needed.

The buffest one, who appeared to be the head of the pack, cracked his knuckles. "Well, well, what do we have here?" he purred. "Looks like a weak one. We'll have no trouble taking you out." He cocked his head. "Now, we'll give you ten seconds to run. Ready, set…" I sped off as fast as my spindly legs would allow me to, but I sensed the big pair of hands reaching toward me before I felt them. I really had no chance. They pushed me down to the asphalt, and pinned me down to the point where I couldn't move, much less escape. Then came the pain. A blow to my stomach knocked the wind right out of me. A simple solution soon came to me. Act like I'm unconscious. I was fairly sure that they wouldn't want to torture someone who wasn't awake to feel the pain.

I closed my eyes, made my breathing heavy, and let my body go slack. The bullies prodded me for a few minutes, then grunted and promptly walked away, grumbling about my passing out. When I was positive that they were a safe distance from me, I dusted myself off and stood up- then doubled over from the pain in my stomach. I lifted up my threadbare shirt and saw a black and blue bruise beginning to already form, spreading like a rash. Ouch. That would likely last for weeks. Walking at a snail's pace, to spare my new wound, I made my way to the public washroom and locked myself in a stall, cautious of any pursuers.

I stayed in there, and nodded off after a few hours. That's how I ended up where I am now, having just risen from my sleep. Now I remember. Today is my first reaping day. I know that most children my age would be quaking with fear at this point, but with the things that I've been through, I am not frightened or worried easily. Given that my name is only in there once, since I felt no need to take tesserae (where would I be able to make bread with the grain?) I am as safe as can be. I take out my one nice shirt and pants that I managed to swipe from a merchant's stand and dress. Then I finally emerge from my stall to wash my face and hands. The layers of grime that have accumulated there for the past few days are swept up into the water and make it black as it goes down the drain. Soon I look as presentable as one given my circumstances can get, which is not much, although it is better that showing up to the reaping in my usual state.

When I leave the washroom, the sun informs me that it is afternoon, meaning that the reapings will be starting in a few minutes. Apparently, I was out for quite a while. Luckily I am near the square and get there about a minute early- just enough time to get signed in. When the needle to draw blood breaks my skin, my finger cries in pain, but I fight the urge to wince or yelp. I can handle much worse. As I head over to the 12-year old section, I receive stares of recognition from the children around me. They all know who I am. I am the dirty scoundrel who lurks around the allies and sleeps against buildings. I am the boy who has no home or a place to belong.

Ignoring the condescending stares, my eyes are trained on the stage, waiting for the silly escort to appear. A screeching, high pitched noise fills my ears, and that is when I know that we are about to begin. Sure enough, Hartania Bauble flies onto the stage, bouncing ridiculously. Her attire is so painfully cheerful that it looks like she is dressing up for a holiday, not for a reaping that will send two innocent kids to their impending doom. When she presents our mayor to read the Treaty of Treason, I lean into listen intently, as I have never before actually paid attention. I am in awe of its content, and not in a good way at all. The floods and plagues and wars that all led to Panem aren't the least of it. It's the Capitol's attitude that is so frustrating! I mean, in their twisted minds, they are being _charitable _to present the _Hunger Games? _Those two words are basically like salt and this delicacy that I've heard of called ice cream –they should never be put together.

And how could the mayor read this so calmly without faltering? He has a daughter that is eligible for the Games, who could very well be reaped and dead in a week. If I were her, I would be steaming mad that my father would think so highly of an annual child massacre. While I think over this, Hartania's annoying tones bring me back to the reaping, as she crosses over to the girl's reaping ball. She has just only read the name (no one I know, anyways) when a voice says, "I volunteer. My name is Ramira Fortez, and I'm proud to be a tribute in this year's Hunger Games."

I divert my attention to this Ramira, and I immediately swoon. She is such a beauty, with her full lips, wavy blond hair, and perfect face. As she walks up the steps, Hartania gasps and says something about her being the sibling to last year's tribute. I did not see the Games, last year, or any year in the past 3 years, for that matter, so that piece of information did not matter to me. Perhaps she wanted all of fame, even though he I don't think he won. Any tributes, dead or not, are known throughout the districts of which they came from.

Before I know it, she is at the male's reaping ball, had poised to pick a name. She reaches in, and the piece of paper that is a death sentence is held in her hand. "Crasseus Drane!" she announces excitedly. Wait, what? Craseus Drane? Oh. Yeah. That's me. The superiority that I had bore drains out of me quick as a flash. Now all that fills me is undiluted fear. Fear of the Capitol. Fear of the Games. And most of all, fear of a torturous death. My feet seem to take on a mind of its own, disobeying my brain's order to stay rooted in place. I begin to hyperventilate as I mount the stage and l star to feel faint.

_This can't be happening, _I think. _I've already lost everything I care about, so do I have to lose my life, too? _I take my place on the stage and shake hands with Ramira, and I can't tear my eyes away from her perfect face. But I soon have to, because I'm being pushed into the Justice Building.

My first thought when I enter my good-byes room is just utter amazement. It is richer that rich, grander than grand, better than best. The fluffy chairs, expensive fabrics, ornately carved wooden furniture, it's all a privilege that people like me have never gotten to have, even when I lived a normal life. It's too bad that the only reason that I'm here is to prepare for death, or else I could have enjoyed my surroundings.

I'm sure that I'm not going to get any visitors, so all I can do is sit and strategize. Of course, there's not much hope that I'm going to be alive next week, but the only way to keep from going insane is to occupy my mind with something productive. Actually, there's one skill that I do have that is useful, but it's not going to have much use when faced with an adversary three times my size with a sword, a spear, a mace, or any other lethal weapon.

It started right after my parents had been sent away three years ago, when I was nine years old. The awful things that they would say out loud about the Capitol were so rebellious, I had a feeling it would get them in trouble someday. And I was right. They made the mistake of going to a public showing of the Hunger Games that year, and audibly exclaiming about how terrible the Capitol was for inflicting these games and how they should start an uprising then and there. Many people agreed, but they had enough sense to keep quiet when there were Peacekeepers around. Before my parents could know what was happening, they were tranquilized and hauled away by the Peacekeepers. I've heard of people called Avoxes, beings whose tongues were cut out because they committed a crime against the Capitol, and I think that maybe my parents are one of them.

So when I learned that they were gone, I was shaken. I could no longer live in our modest home, and I was firm about not going to the orphanage. I needed some time to process the information, so I ventured to the only place I could think where I could get some privacy. The forest. The problem was, our electric fence was buzzing with energy all the time, so I needed to find a way to get in. I spent an hour digging up dirt to build a mound that I could stand on to reach an overhanging tree branch and use that as an entrance. From then on, the woods became my sanctuary.

On that first day, I was sitting by a stream when I spotted a berry bush, lush with fruit that was almost identical to blueberries. I was picking them when I noticed that their shape was slightly more oval, and when I investigated, the insides were the color of blood. Definitely not a blueberry. I decided to not eat it but play around with it, mashing them around on the floor with a stick along with some other unfamiliar plants I had discovered. When dusk drew near, I headed back to the district and spent my first out of many nights on the streets. I tried to go back to the woods as often as possible. The next time I went, which was a few days later, I returned to my place at the brook and found a huge bear carcass. It lay right next to my berry mixture, which looked like it had been disturbed. It wasn't difficult to come to my conclusion: Those plants were certainly poisonous. From then on, I scoured the woods for plants to experiment with, and I knew that they were dangerous if I found an animal carcass near my mixture.

Every new poisonous plant I found, I remembered. The descriptions of them are implanted in my brain, vital pieces of knowledge that I hung onto for dear life, just because it was something to do. Now, the information could very well be my lifeline. As I am mulling over all of this, I hear the wooden doors creak open. I'm confused. It hasn't been an hour yet, and I don't have any friends or family, so…

I turn around and see two Peacekeepers flanking a boy my age. I immediately knew those blue eyes, raven hair, tanned skin. Kingsley. My head was spinning. Why would he come visit me? He wasn't my best friend anymore. He obviously didn't care about me anymore. No one did. Yet here he was, in the big oak doors of the room, fidgeting with a little leather bracelet on his wrist. The Peacekeepers left, and he walked towards me, but avoided eye contact. I suppose it would be awkward to talk to your ex-best friend after 3 years of mocking him.

"Umm… I kind of want you to have this." He murmurs, then unclasps the bracelet and holds it out to me. Once I get a closer look at it, I vaguely recognize it. Then I remember… a week before the incident, I was at his house, which was nothing special and similar to my own. Kingsley's father was a leatherworker, so he was showing us how to fashion leather bracelets, or cuffs as he liked to call them. We stamped our names into it and everything. Unfortunately, I lost mine in the woods one day. It was the last fun thing I did with him before I became isolated.

The one he is offering to me as my token has the name KINGSLEY on it, but it is a gesture that lifts my spirits a little. It means _I have not completely forgotten you. _It says _I still reminisce about our friendship. _ I crack a smile at him and take it. The "cuff" fits my wrist perfectly. "Thanks," I say. "But you've ignored me for so long… we're not really friends anymore... so why did you come?"

"I guess I just kinda wanted to make up things between us," he mutters, still gazing at the floor. "And say I'm sorry." He looks up, and we lock eyes for a second. Something passes between us: understanding. Right then, the double doors bang open and Kingsley's mother storms in, her face red with anger. She has always been harsher than her husband.

"WHAT are you doing here, young man?" She is almost screaming. "How many times have I _told _you that you shall have no interaction with those dirty street rats?" Kingsley is red faced too, now, but with shame.

"I'm sorry, Ma," he says. "But he was… he was my friend. And… he's gonna be gone now… so I just wanted a chance to send him off."

"I don't care if he was your _brother!" _she exclaims. "Crasseus is not one of us now, and you are not to talk to him." She sneers at me. "Better you than anybody else gets reaped, too," she purrs. "Nobody will miss you, good riddance!" With that, she takes Kingsley by the arm and stomps away. Those words have only confirmed what I already know.

**I hope you enjoyed it, and since Fanfiction writers live for the reviews, R&R!**


	4. Temper, Temper: D2F

**Author's Note: Hey everyone! We've gotten through a whole district already, so bear with me! I have a new story up called A Knife in the Gut, and it's about the 74****th**** Hunger Games from Clove's POV, so you might want to check that out. Also, it would totally make my day if everyone who read this story could take a second to write a review. I would like to thank InTheDarknessWithNoLIght for this tribute. Enjoy!**

**Indigo Nightshade, Age 16, District 2 Female**

I open my eyes, and the warm sunlight of District 2 filters through the gauzy curtains. I rub the sleep out of my eyes and stifle a yawn. I want to stay in bed so badly, but I can't afford to let fatigue overwhelm me. This is the most important day of my life, what could either change my luxurious life forever or literally kill me. This is the day of the reaping, and I am going to volunteer as a tribute.

I know that becoming a tribute in the Huger Games is certain death for the lower districts, but here, it's an honor that people like me are fighting to attain. All of that fame and fortune that is guaranteed if you become the victor, knowing that all citizens of Panem think of you as strong and tenacious, and the knowledge that you were the one to arise out of a game where 23 out of 24 are brutally killed. I'll be the owner of all of those privileges if things work out the way I assume.

With this mindset, I push myself out of bed and throw on a simple, comfortable pair of black pants and cotton shirt. I listen, and there is not a sound coming from any of the rooms in the house. Good. I would change into my reaping clothes later, but for now I was going to train with Vikov, possibly for the last time. I tread silently down the stairs, as not to wake my family, and head out the door.

The training center is only a couple buildings away from our own house, so it does not take me long to arrive. As I walk through the sturdy metal doors, the familiar smell of the training center greets me. My personal trainer, Vikov Cansidu, is busy with the art of archery; although he is exceptional at any weapon he is handed. "Hello, Indigo!" Vikov says in his thick accent from who knows where. "You wanted to get some training in before you volunteer, eh? Wanted to be prepared?"

I put on a cocky grin and tilt my head. "You know I already _am _prepared." I said slyly. "It's just calming to train." His usually placid expression falters for just a millisecond, but I manage to catch it.

"About that," he says, his gaze dropping to the polished tile floors. "Are you sure that you are ready to volunteer? You still have two more years to do this, and I am sure there is room for improvement. I mean, you are still one of my best students, but…. the Hunger Games? Already?" I can feel the heat and anger start to rise to my cheeks, surely making my olive skin look like a tomato. My breathing comes fast and I feel my heart beat faster, anger coursing through my veins. How _dare _he question my skill level? How _dare _he act as if I was a child jumping into an ocean without knowing how to swim?

I have to say that I am temperamental. In times like this, when people madden me, I lose control and well… act without thinking, I suppose. Or maybe I think, but without properly filtering my thoughts. Whatever it may be, next thing I know I find my arm making its way toward his face, my hands clenched into a fist. Sure enough, my hand finds its target, and since he is hurt, I tackle him to the ground. I grab a weapon off of the nearest rack, which turns out to be a spear, and poise it at his neck.

"Don't _ever _underestimate me," I growl menacingly. Then I leap off him, throw the spear aimlessly, and stalk out of the training center. No training today, apparently. However, I am still smoking from his words. How in the Panem can Vikov doubt my abilities when he's been privately training me for as long as I can remember? With my weapon of choice, twin swords, I know fifty ways to kill a person, rarely ever missing or making a mistake. I'll definitely show him, or anyone who as ever disbelieved in me, when I come home as the victor. Then they will all bow down to _me. _

I tiptoe through the entrance to our grand house, and still no one has arisen. What did I expect? Its only 9:00 and the reaping begins at 2:00. I ascend the stairs to my room, and contemplate my wardrobe. This is not a reaping where you dress on the very off chance that you will go to the Capitol. I know for sure that that will be my destination.

I decide to pick my favorite go-to outfit. It may not be a fancy dress, but it showcases my personality. I pull on the black corset top that I received for my birthday, and my old black jacket. Tight black pants and combat boots complete the look, but there's nothing I can do about the blatant scar on my right hand, from accidentally catching a knife by the blade. Oh well. It shows viewers that I am willing to fight. I carefully comb out my rib-length, iridescent white-blonde hair, and part my fringed bangs. My huge green eyes are outlined with kohl to make them pop, and - voila! I am ready for the cameras, and for all of Panem.

When I finish dressing, the house begins to wake up. It is not long before I am called down to breakfast, my last breakfast in this house. They have not found out about my morning excursion to the training center. As I walk down the stairs to the kitchen, Shay, the family cat, darts through my legs. In the rare moments when I allow my mind to wander, I ask whether or not I was her mother in a past life (not like I really believe in past lives). I swear, my bright emerald eyes are an exact replica of hers; the same unique glimmer, the identical shade.

Upon reaching the kitchen, the smell of sizzling bacon wafts through the air. I sit down at the mahogany table between my twin brother Topaz and my younger brother Cobalt, who is not yet eligible for the Reaping. My mother stands at the stove, frying the bacon, while my father sits across from me, reading a newspaper. He's cruel and full of himself, which is the average personality for a trainer of Peacekeepers. He also helped me make my final decision about volunteering. I already saw it as an option, but he persuaded me until I was certain of my actions.

He looks up from his paper and takes a swig of coffee. "Indigo," he intones gruffly. "You're volunteering for the Reaping today, correct?" I nod slowly. "You had better come home and be victor, or you will be a disgrace to our family. You had better win." Alright, he's said that a million times before, and I already know that I have to be victor. If I don't I'll be dead. "Just to let you know, I'm not going to come say good-bye to you today. It'll get you too emotional, and distract you from the Games." Figures. Well, he wouldn't have drawn that much emotion out of me anyways.

He then stands up abruptly and leaves the room. Breakfast is ready after that, so my mother can come sit down with us over the meal. She looks at me affectionately. "Wow!" she exclaims. "My daughter, going to be famous in the Hunger Games! Imagine that! All the fortune we'll have…" Topaz looks at me sadly. I know that he doesn't want me to volunteer, although his motives are not the same as Vikov's. He does not worry that I will not come home, but that I will lose myself.

Topaz: the prime example of cool, calm, collected, and sweet. The exact opposite of my vicious, temperamental demeanor. In other words, the exact opposite of the majority of District 2. I mean, I can be calm, and will try to be for the cameras, but it comes naturally to him, whereas I have to force myself to be. He would never volunteer for the Hunger Games, ever; it's just not his forte. He cannot handle a weapon for the life of him, and is more akin to that of District 3 than of his own kind here. He excels at any kind of academics, and is always carefully calculating the most rational way to handle issues, whilst I do whatever crosses my mind first.

Then Cobalt pipes up. "Yeah! Indigo's volunteering, and when I'm 16 I'll be able to volunteer and win, too!" I can't help but crack a smile.

"I'm sure you will, Cobalt." I say, just to make him happy, but the truth is, he can't handle killing a fly, let alone a person. I wolf down my breakfast, and it is time to go to the reaping. My mom, brothers, and I walk to the square, where the camera crew is busy setting up. Topaz and I sign in with the Capitol people, while Cobalt and mother head to the bystanders section. They are both barely containing their excitement, and while they walk off, keep informing random folks that "Indigo's volunteering!"

Since we are a few minutes early, I go meet my friends Azrael Drakon and Sterling Starline. I found them fulfilling their favorite pastime: flirting with girls. They're both hitting on Marida Coriander, a girl from our grade, and she is looking decidedly annoyed. Ha, I usually get a good laugh when that happens. "Hey, guys," I say to Azrael and Sterling. I direct my eyes to Marida. "You enjoying yourself there?" I say with a mocking smirk. She gives me a look that says I-am-very-much-_not_-enjoying-myself. "Well," I say, taking the opportunity to taunt her further. "You are quite lucky. My friends here only flirt with _special _girls." All I need to see is her fuming expression, and a wide grin spreads across my face.

Why am I trying to irritate Marida, might you ask? A few years ago, she maliciously and callously stole my boyfriend Darian. I do not need to go into the details, but let's just say that she received a special little haircut while she was sleeping. That definitely achieved my need for deep revenge, but every time I see her disturbingly perfect face, it just makes me want to spit. So instead, I play with her emotions.

I turn my back and walk away into the 16 year old female section, because the reaping is about to begin. I find myself standing next to Anolea Carntrid, and she makes a subtle move to timidly sidestep away from me. Ah, I remember what I did to her, after she boasted that her weaponry skills surpassed mine. How delusional; I could almost feel sorry for her had she not been degrading my most important skills. Poor Anolea found herself at the point of my twin swords when I jumped her in the training center; she got away with a little scar on her throat. I had applauded myself for that one. Yes, I am known to do what it takes to get revenge on someone who has wronged me. Other people give me fearful looks for the same reason. If I haven't yet given them a firsthand experience of my wrath, rumors have definitely gotten around.

Let's get something straight: I love the Hunger Games and I think that the Capitol is genius for creating them, but what I hate is the way that the citizens carry themselves, particularly the escorts. So when our new escort (the one for previous years died in an accident) Niaminia Lorense bounds onto the stage in all of her Capitol glory, I let out an internal groan. Are those… _twinkling mice _that adorn her hair, which is styled like a tracker jacker nest? And was she _actually_ wearing the skin of a snake as her dress, or was it just a print? Ironic, really, seeing how snakes eat mice.

"Happy Hunger Games!" She warbles. "May the odds be ever in your favor!" Goodness, I would get splitting headaches if I had to listen to that high-pitched voice all day. I make a mental note to avoid her as much as possible. "Now the mayor will read the Treaty of Treason." Our mayor, who is a muscular, tanned man, strides to the podium. As he reads, I tune out, because I've heard this numerous times before. I alert myself when Niaminia's voice snaps me to reality. "It is time for our lucky girl tribute to be picked!" she says, and walks over to the reaping bowl. She plucks a name and reads it without a hesitation. Obviously, she hasn't figured that you are supposed to pause to add suspense and nervous anticipation to the moment.

'Laniakea Moritzo!" She exclaims. A fragile child proceeds to the stage, taking small steps and looking nowhere but forward. If I wasn't going to volunteer, she'd be a bloodbath. When Niaminia asks for volunteers, I calmly step forward.

"I volunteer!" I say, loud enough for everyone to hear. "I'm Indigo Nightshade, and I am extremely ready and prepared for the Games. Expect a victory for District 2 this year." I hear my mother and Cobalt squeal excitedly in the crowd, and Laniakea races down the steps and flings herself into her father's arms.

"How wonderful!" Niaminia says. "Looks like we have a volunteer!" I make my way onto the stage, and she exclaims, "District 2, we have our female tribute, Indigo Nightshade!" Loud clapping fills the air, and my heart soars. _Now I'll finally get the recognition I deserve, _I think. "Boys, it's your turn now!" She trots over to the boys reaping ball and draws a slip of paper.

"Nolin Horlix!" She announces with gusto. "Nolin, come on up!" Before Nolin can even mount the steps, a strong male voice screams, "I volunteer!" I see a tall, muscular and handsome boy that looks a bit older than I lunge forward. My first thought: he does not have as much self control as I do. I wanted to volunteer just as much as he did, yet I portrayed myself calmly, and was not so impulsive as to volunteer before Niaminia asked for them. However, he is very, _very _attractive.

He literally leaps up the steps and takes his place, as if the stage were to run away if he didn't mount it fast enough. Then he flashes an arrogant smile. "The name is Josiah King," he states. The Capitol audience is probably swooning over him right now, which means he'll get sponsors. Thank goodness we'll be in the Career pack together, so I won't have to face him as an adversary.

"Another volunteer!" trills Niaminia. "I'm sure this will be the best year yet! Now I'm positive that District 2 will prevail! Give a hand for our tributes!" Again, more clapping. I remember my pre-decided interview angle, hostile and vicious, and wipe the smile off my face. It's time to start acting like a victor. Josiah and I are shepherded into the grand Justice Building to say our goodbyes.

I am not impressed by the room for our goodbyes. It's nice of course, but my own bedroom rivals it. Still, I cannot help but notice just how incredibly soft the plush sofas are when I sink into it. Contrary to the tribute in the lower districts, I am not dreading my goodbyes, because I know exactly what to expect. My family and friends already knew I was going to volunteer, and actually wanted me to do it. Therefore, there will be no tears or emotions, or so I hope.

My mother, Cobalt, and Topaz, come through the doors. "Great job!" my mother shrieks. "You looked so grown up when you volunteered!" Have I mentioned that my mother can be a ditz sometimes?

"Indy's going to be in the Hunger Games!" says Cobalt. "We're going to be rich!" Topaz only smiles sadly. He takes my arm and leads me to another part of the room. He now has a serious expression on his face.

"Indigo, we need to strategize if you're going to come home." He whispers. What? Is he questioning whether or not my fighting skills are adequate enough? "So during the bloodbath, when the gong rings out-"I cut him off.

"Why do you doubt me, Topaz?" I ask, my voice rising rapidly. "You never did before! I am completely capable!" He looks as if he doesn't want to respond. My temper is flaring now. "Tell me why, Topaz!"

"Well…Indigo...I do not doubt you...But… it's that… there's always something that could go wrong. It's not always lack of weaponry skills that makes the tributes go down. Gamemaker traps, snares that you can't fight with a sword, poisonous plants, the possibilities are endless."

I suppose that his words had a ring of truth to it. But my fury overwhelms me, and my fist meets his jaw in a matter of seconds, before I know what I'm doing. He stumbles backwards, taken aback and astonished. "Goodbye, Indigo," he mutters, and runs from the room. My mother may not be the smartest student in the classroom, but she knows when people act meanly. She shoots me a disapproving glare, and runs after Topaz, hauling Cobalt behind her.

I collapse on the floor glumly. No matter how much I want to, I can't always be the model perfect, vicious District 2 citizen. I hear a knocking on the door, and realize that it's Azrael and Sterling. I can't have them see me like this, and I'm in no mood to have any other human contact at the moment. "No visitors!" I scream. The sound of receding footsteps fills my ears, and I am satisfied. In this mental state, sprawled on the floor, is how I spend the remainder of my goodbye time. When I arrive at the training station, my calm, collected façade will definitely be plastered back on, but now, in the privacy of this room, I can let my weaknesses show. This will be the last time I let my guard down. Ever.


	5. A Wolf in Sheep's Skin: D2M

**Author's Note: Hey everyone! Sorry that I am the world's slowest updater **_**ever**_**, but these reaping chapters take **_**so**_** long to write. I could just cut to the chase and make them less detailed, but I'm guessing that you want to get to know your tribute before they are brutally murdered. Also, there is a new poll up on my profile, asking which District's tributes do you like better as a whole. Last thing: If you have not checked out A Knife in the Gut yet, please do if you want. I would like to thank Narnian Pirate for making up this tribute. Happy reading! **

**Josiah King, Age 17, District 2**

My life is a lie. Nobody has ever truly known me, although they all think they do. My real thoughts are buried away, and I have not showcased, the real me, the real Josiah King. If I do, they will all hate me. My family will disown me. I have always been too frightened of what will happen if I were to reveal my true self, what really goes on in my mind, what I really do in my free time. Until today. The day of the reaping, where I will volunteer, surely breaking my family's hearts in the process. But I have repetitively told myself over and over that their beliefs will not hinder what I want for my future.

You see, my family, which consists of my mother, father, 19-year old sister Rose, and me, is a rarity in District 2. In our District, the Games are celebrated, and looked forward to. I definitely agree with this mindset. However, the rest of my kin are the few rebels here, who curse the Capitol and the Hunger Games. They say that it is cruel for them to make children fight to the death every year, but I think it's pure genius. This is the only outlet for people like me to show that they are strong, to show that they have the skill, the wit, the manipulation, and the drive to survive. But if I were to voice my opinions out loud to my family, they will disapprove so highly that they will no longer permit me to live with them. I have stayed silent, and they have believed me. Today they will see that everything about me that they have known to be true was all an act.

I open my eyes to a small box on my bedside table. My reaping day present. On every day of the reaping that I have been eligible, I have received a present from my parents for having to endure this. A pang of guilt fills me, and I shake it away. _This is what you want, _I tell myself firmly. _This is what you have been training for. _ I groggily rub the sleep out of my eyes and sit up to open the box. Inside I find a small, bronze pin, carved with ornate designs. In the middle, a bird is engraved in it, spreading out its wings in flight. The mockingjay. The mutation that is used as the symbol of rebellion. Of course this is the pin that my Capitol hating parents would choose to give to me. If I were to wear this on daily excursions throughout our District, I could be arrested. The accessory would do better in my pocket.

I pull myself out of bed and get dressed in my standard reaping attire: blue cotton button-down shirt that defines my bulging muscles, black slacks, and brown loafers. I tousle my chocolate colored hair to perfection and clean out my deep, emerald eyes. I grin at myself in the mirror. I've always been told that I'm a looker, by various girls around town and my family. It is quite true as well. This will give me an edge in the Games because more attractive tributes usually gain more sponsors, and I without a doubt fall into that category. Not to mention my excellent sword skills.

I slide the pin into my pocket and give my reflection one last lingering gaze, and go downstairs to have breakfast. My parents and Rose are always bitter on the day of the reaping. It is common for them to randomly go on rants about the Capitol and the Games, particularly my father. This morning, he seems in a worse mood than previous years.

"I can't believe the brutality of our District!" he was muttering as he paced about the kitchen. "To think that they _train _their kids to participate in the Games? _Ridiculous!" _I quietly take my place at the dinner table and look down at my plate. _I _am one of those kids. Every day, I tell them that I have to go to a friend's house for schoolwork, when I am really going to the public training center to hone my abilities. There, I truly fit in. The people there think the same way I do, have the same goals that I do, which is to be a victor of the Hunger Games. I can allow myself to be the stereotypical Career that I am, but is locked inside me at home. In the training center I am ruthless, arrogant, and most importantly, _accepted. _

My family finally notices my presence. "Good morning, Josiah," says my mother calmly, but there's no mistaking the anger in her eyes. If she knew, it would be directed at me, not the Capitol. I nod at her. She mistakes my nod of guilt for a nod of anxiety about the reaping. "We all feel it," she says sadly. "Just look at your father. He won't rest until you are ineligible. Neither will I."

All I can do is nod again. My father is still pacing. "If we were to have a rebellion, right here, right now…" I tune out, as his words are nothing new. I soundlessly eat my breakfast of French toast and berries. My mother's attention turns back to me.

"Did you like your gift, honey?" she asks. "It was to remind you that you're not alone. That there are rebels everywhere." I smile, but I can feel that it doesn't quite reach my eyes.

"I loved it," I say. Hopefully my family can't tell how forced this statement is. "See?" I take it out of my pocket. "I'll carry it with me everywhere." That is not a lie, but it is not true in the way they assume. I _will _carry it with me everywhere; everywhere in the Games, not everywhere in daily life like they intended. It will be my token.

I look at the ancient grandfather clock ticking on the wall. 10:00, which means that I have to endure another 4 hours of my family before the 2:00 reaping. I push away from the table and stand. "Excuse me," I say. "I have to go to my room and… study for a math test." Another lie.

I go upstairs and grab my _Techniques for Sword Combat _reference guide. I believe that I have trained to the best of my abilities, but I reread often. I flop onto my bed and flip randomly to a section. The page that I land on is _Chapter 5: The Right Mentality. _I look it over, and I don't recognize it. I most likely scoffed at it due to the fact that it has nothing to do with physical skills, but now I'm curious.

"To become a great sword fighter, you need more than just the combat skills," I read. "You need the right mentality. You always have to persevere, and giving up or backing down should never be an option. This principle is in play during combat and in life." _He's right, _I think. _I will never back down, on volunteering or in anything else in life. Ever. _

It is silent as my family and I walk to the square, but in my mind it is a different story. There are so many issues that I have to address with myself, so many questions…. I figure out solutions to them as we travel.

_**Question #1: **__How will I present myself when I volunteer, and what will my angle be?_

_**Answer: **__Exactly as I am when I am away from home. Vicious, cocky, and Career material. _

_**Question #2: **__What will I say to my family during the good-byes?_

_**Answer: **__Since they will most likely be crying, I will comfort them and say that I am coming home._

_**Question #3: **__How will I interact with the female tribute?_

_**Answer: **__I will see if she is strong. If that is the case, I will act acknowledging to her, but let her know that I am superior. If she is weak, then I will not give her a second glance. _

_**Question #4: **__Strategies for training?_

_**Answer: **__I will leave that up to my mentor. _

We soon reach the square, and I go to sign in. It is different this time when they draw my blood, as I know for certain that this blood will be put to use. Instead of being thrown away like all the other times, this sample will be going straight to the Capitol.

I see my best friends Lia, Rian, and Fion (I met them in the training center) standing in a group and head over to them. "Hey," I say. They let me into their circle.

"We're all thinking of volunteering," Lia whispers. "I'll have it easy, but you guys are going to have to compete for the spot." I should be worried, but I believe I can beat them to the stage. At school, I am the fastest for the 100-yard dash, so it should not be a problem.

"All of you should just let me volunteer," Rian complains. "It's my last year! You have at least another year, whereas this is my only chance!"

I grin at him. "Sorry, but you shouldn't have waited till now," I say slyly. "You know what they say. If you snooze, you lose. It's anybody's game." Fion nods in agreement, while Rian pretends to pout.

"The reaping's about to begin," says Lia. "We should get going." We all split up into our age groups, Fion and I going to the 17-year old section. Our escort, Niaminia Lorense, wobbles onto the stage. I eye her in disgust. The Capitol people are simply atrocious in their demeanor and their looks.

"Happy Hunger Games!" she exclaims in that affected Capitol way. "May the odds be ever in your favor!" The mayor steps up to read the treaty of treason, which I am always interested in. I don't see how my family still thinks the Capitol is awful after listening to this. They _saved _us, and the Hunger Games is to make sure that we are kept disciplined. Without the Capitol, we would probably engage in war, or everyone would be dead.

Niaminia steps back up to the podium and announces that she will draw the girl's name. She bounces over to the girl's reaping ball and picks a slip. The name fades into the background, just another word. A small child proceeds to the stage, her face as white as a sheet. She is weak, and I will kill her in the bloodbath.

"I volunteer." A smooth voice says. It is not Lia's, and a small part of me feels relieved that I won't have to fight her. An attractive-in-a-fierce-way girl with white-blonde hair steps into my view, her face calm. "I'm Indigo Nightshade, and I am extremely ready and prepared for the games. Expect a victory for District 2 this year." She is so confident, radiating an aura of arrogance. Hopefully my presentation will stick in the minds of the Capitol longer.

She mounts the stage and takes her place. My anticipation is building now, fizzing up inside me and threatening to blast me to pieces. Niaminia picks the boys name, and I'm in position, ready to lunge forward before anyone else can try and take my place. I _will _be victorious.

Niaminia reads the name, but I do not hear it for the blood rushing in my ears. _Wait for the right moment, just wait. _"I volunteer!" I scream, running to the stage in leaps and taking my place. I must appear monstrous and vicious to the crowd, which is exactly what I am aiming for. Now it is time to completely win over the hearts of everyone in the Capitol. I spread my mouth into a cocky grin, showing of my meticulously perfect teeth. "The name is Josiah King," I say. I don't say anything else, adding a bit of mystery to my personality.

I had expected to hear agonized wails and cries from my family by now, but for some reason, the air stays silent of their voices. Maybe they will come to peace with my choice easier that I had anticipated. "Another volunteer!" Niaminia says, gushing with happiness. This is an excitable reaping by any standards, and this is her first year as an escort. "I'm sure this will be our best year yet! Now I'm positive that District 2 will prevail! Give a hand for our tributes!" The crowd applauds, and Indigo and I are herded into the grand Justice Building to say our goodbyes.

The room is vast, and I am astonished. I stroke the soft, furry material of a sofa while I wait for my family. A small part of me is desperately hoping that they decide not to come and visit, so I will not have to face them. So I will no have to face their emotions.

The doors burst open, and my family barges in. I take one look at their stony faces and know that they are angry, that they are steaming, that they are overwhelmed with rage. Why did I expect them to be sad? My mother rushes toward me and grips my shoulders, hard. Her twisted face is just inches away from my own, her hot breath saturating my skin.

"What...were…you…_thinking?_" She hisses. "You have completely defied what our family firmly stands for! How are you going to survive in that God forsaken death trap?" I search my mind for something to say. I did not prepare for this aspect, and it is difficult to concentrate with Rose shooting daggers at me, and my father's face contorted with fury.

"Um," I mutter. "I've always been…different than you. You just didn't realize it. And… I've been training." I look down at my hands, futilely hoping that my words were enough. I am wrong.

It is my father this time who speaks. "_We _didn't realize it?" he roars. "Have _you _realized that by doing what you did, you disgraced our family and aligned us publicly with the Capitol? And to think that you have been _training _behind our backs? Atrocious!" I am getting mad now. Everyone has their opinion; why could they not just accept mine? Also, how could they be so incredibly _blind _to the people of our District?

"You know what?" I say coldly, standing up to push my mother away. "_You _are the ones that disgrace us; _you _are the ones that cause us to stand out in the crowd. The population of our District worships the Capitol, and by being rebels, you are humiliating yourselves; even putting us in danger. What I did is common here. I am a _common_ citizen of District 2."

All of my family's faces go white, but their furious expressions are still the same. "Fine," my mother says steadily. "Fine. You can think that way, but don't expect to have a family with us anymore. You are no longer a King. If you are truthful about how you have always loved the Games, then you have _never_ been a King."

My face feels hot, and my breath becomes ragged. My family just disowned me. _My family just disowned me. _"That's perfect," I say. "Because when I am the victor, I won't need you anymore. I won't need anyone. And all of you will be stuck in our small house, while I will be luxurious in the Victor's Village." I put on a cold grin; the grin of a snake. "Now, if you are no longer my family, then there is no reason to still be here. You can leave now."

My parents look aghast, but now, Rose who has stayed silent during this whole affair, just simply looks sad. My father turns and storms out, my mother close behind. Rose gives me one last lingering glance before she follows them through the doors. With that, they are gone.

I take out that mockingjay pin and hurl it across the room with all of my strength. I have to be rid of any sign that I belonged to them, any sign that I ever relied on them. I do not want a token, not if it was their doing.

They are my first and last visitors. I know that Fion, Lia, and Rian now resent me, because I landed the coveted spot as tribute while they failed to do so. They will surely not visit me. I have no more attachments. In other words, I am completely and utterly alone. And that will not change, for as a victor, my only company shall be money.


	6. Always on Top: D3F

**Author's Note: Hey everyone! Sorry for the long wait but I promise that I will try my very hardest to get this updated at least once a week, unless I have something major going on. This one is the longest, most detailed yet, so it should be something to chew on while you wait for the next one. It would be great if everyone who reads this would review, as it would totally make my day! Enjoy the chapter! **

**Aurora Jade Stone, Age 14, District 3 Female**

My eyelids are heavy, and my head is fuzzy with fatigue. I have been awake since the crack of dawn, strategizing for the slim but ever present possibility that I will be reaped for the Hunger Games. Well, that and to watch the sunrise. The sun is one of the only things of beauty in District 3, a District where the reigning color is the gray of the cement factories and the weak, diluted yellow that filters through the grimy windows. Dawn is virtually the only time that you can see the color wheel in its near entirety; the soft purples, vibrant oranges, bursting yellows, blood reds.

I believe that I have come up with a capital plan for the Games that may allow me to survive if I were to be made tribute. Our District is known for our extreme intelligence, after all. Unfortunately, it will involve betrayal and manipulation so severe that even if it does get me home, I will likely be hated by all of Panem. I am known to come up with ingenious plans that require extreme measures if they will get me out on top, and I would rather live a life of solitude than no life at all.

What I will do is act like a sweet, bubbly, smart girl who everyone except the Careers will hopefully want to be allies with. I will form an alliance with over one person, and stay with them for a couple days. Then I quietly slit their throats in the middle of the night, and clear out. I will track down all of the tributes to ally myself with each one, and kill them off once I have gained their trust. Best case scenario, this strategy along with them fighting each other will succeed in ridding all of the remaining tributes that are not Careers. If it does not, I have a vast knowledge of poisonous plants that I can slip into their food or position for them to find. When it comes down to me and the Careers, I will once again use poison as my last defense, unless I pick up weapon skills in the training center.

I look at the small clock that sits on my bedside table. 3:00, which means that I can sleep for another four hours until I have to go down and fix breakfast for my younger brother Apollo and I. I collapse onto my bed, satisfied that I am soundly prepared.

I awake at 7:00 and groggily step out of bed. I pick my one acceptably formal dress out of my clothing bin and smooth it out. I had to make it myself, as my parents don't care enough to provide their children with everything they need. I pored over sewing books from the library and garnered up enough money by working various jobs to buy the fabric. It wasn't a big affair; simply another challenge that proved I am ambitious enough to overcome anything.

The dress is made of pink cotton fabric, and is a complex design of puffed sleeves and ruffles. I throw it on and comb out my long ginger locks, admiring the soft curl at the end. I wash out my intelligent green eyes and brush my teeth until they shine. My forehead puckers in concern as I examine the blatant scar that trails from my right eye to my upper lip. I received it from Manouk, my father, when he was drunk and tried to attack me, but of course I couldn't tell anyone but my close friends that. If any tributes asked me about it, I would say that I fell on ice.

I walk down the hallway of my family's small house and knock on the door to Apollo's bedroom. It is barely bigger than a closet, and only has room for his child-sized bed and a bin for his clothes. I wonder what will happen when he grows older than his six years and can no longer fit his bed. I doubt that our parents will care, though. "Apollo?" I say. When my efforts warrant no answer, I open his door. He is still asleep, his face bearing an angelic expression and his hair adorably rumpled. I cross over to his bed and gently shake his shoulder. "Apollo," I whisper. "It's time to wake up now."

His eyes flutter open and his fist comes up to rub them. He yawns softly. "Morning, mommy," he slurs in the way that you do when you just wake up. Apollo often calls me "mommy", as I act as more of a parental figure to him than our own mother or father. I make him meals, read to him, and tuck him in, all of the things that I never got. I practically raised him alone, with the occasional intervention of my two best friends Sebastian and Zooey. I want to make sure that he has a better childhood than me.

I guess it's a good time to explain the source of the animosity between my parents and me. It wasn't due to anything that I did, or anything that I happened to do on accident. It was completely their faults, but they are not strong enough to take the blame. Here it is, plain and simple: I was a mistake. A drunken mistake that was never supposed to happen. They hadn't wanted me, still don't, and never will. I constantly remind them of how irresponsible they are, and they hate me for it. When I was eight, Apollo was conceived in the same circumstances as I, and became one of the only bright spots in my life.

I help him get dressed in simple tweed pants and shirt, and lead him out to the kitchen. Uh-oh. My parents are there, sitting down at the table and eating toast. I try to avoid each of them as much as possible, but to no avail. "Go to the living room," I tell Apollo. "I'll make your breakfast and bring it to you." He obeys, and I am left to face them alone.

My father smirks maliciously. "Well, well." He taunts. "Today's the reaping, isn't it? How terrible it would be if you were the one to go." My features harden and I clench my fists.

"It _would_ indeed be quite terrible, Manouk," I say smoothly. I prefer to call my parents by their first names to showcase my utter lack of respect for them. "Especially for you and Dementia, since you wouldn't be able to take care of Apollo. On second thought, without me to provide money, you wouldn't be able to take care _yourself._" I smile internally at how witty that comeback was, and glide over to the cabinet to fetch the cereal. I pour two bowls for Apollo and I, and head for the living room. I pause and look over my shoulder. "By the way, I'm taking Apollo to Sebastian's house later," I say. Sebastian's home is our sanctuary, and we often go there. "He says that he would rather spend time over there with Sebastian, who is a better parental figure to him than both of you combined." Of course, Apollo didn't actually state that or even know that we're going to Sebastian's, but I figured that would be the perfect thing to say to make my dramatic exit.

I go and sit on the couch by Apollo. I hand him his cereal and inform him of our plans. "Great!" he exclaims happily. "Will Zooey be there too?" He is very close with them.

"Yes," I say with a grin. "Hurry up and eat so we can get going."

We finish breakfast soon and begin the walk to Sebastian's. "I heard from kids at school that today is something called the reaping." He says. "What does that mean?" _Ah, curious Apollo, _I think. _Even if I told you exactly what the reaping is without beating around the bush, you wouldn't understand the seriousness of it all. What big of an effect it will have on you if I get picked. _

"Umm..." I search my mind for a way to explain it to him. "It's when one girl and one boy are picked to go away and…play a game where they have to fight. And some don't…come back." Apollo's brow furrows.

"So they…they just stay there?" he asks. "Why don't they come back? And can it happen to you?"

"You'll learn sooner or later," I say. "And it probably won't happen to me, anyways, so you shouldn't worry." He nods, and we continue our walk in silence. We receive stares of contempt from random citizens as we pass by. Despite the fact that I am the most successful student in my year and highly intelligent, our family is one of the poorest in the District and my parents are outcasts. That is enough to be ridiculed.

We arrive at Sebastian's, which is a modest home that is neither too big nor too small. I think that it would be the ideal place to reside. Sebastian's mother Roe opens the door. "Hello," she greets us warmly. "Sebastian is in his room with Zooey." I thank her and lead Apollo into Sebastian's room. He and Zooey are engaged in a fierce game of Who-Can-Make-It, which involves a pile of junk pieces and seeing who can create the best gadget out of them.

I clearly remember the first time that I met Sebastian. It was when I was eight years old, right after Apollo was born. I needed to get out of the house, so I was taking a walk through the District. I was daydreaming about who-knows-what when a bumped straight into him. "Whoa, watch out!" he said. He contemplated me for a second. "I've never seen you before. What's your name?"

"Aurora," I had said so quiet that the word was almost a whisper.

"Well, my name is Sebastian. How old are you?" I paused. I didn't and still don't like giving away too much information about myself to people I don't know. I prefer to be secretive until I trust them. "How old are you?" he repeated. "I'm eight."

"Me, too." He didn't seem to hear me, and I said louder, "Me, too. I'm eight as well."

"Oh, okay. Since I haven't seen you around before, where do you live?" I was growing increasingly uncomfortable with his numerous inquisitions, and was extremely reluctant to answer. I decided to be as vague as possible.

"District 3," I said. "I live in District 3." His forehead creased.

"Obviously," he lamented. "You're not going to tell me, are you?" I shook my head. "Alright, then. That's fine, I guess. Do you want to walk with me?" I nodded, and that was that. Later on, he introduced me to Zooey. Our threesome was inseparable after that.

I am brought out of my thoughts when my friends finally notice Apollo and me's presence. "Hey, Rora!" Zooey exclaims and leaps up. "We were waiting for you!"

"We sure were," Sebastian says, going over to playfully ruffle Apollo's hair. "Zooey said that she wouldn't let a thing slip about what happened at physical education the other day until you came. The only thing she would say is that your plan was pure genius." I grinned at the memory of that day.

Our teacher told us the day before that day that we would have to race against one other person in a 100-meter dash. Sadly, I am not a fast runner and I was paired up with Claratrice, who was one of the speediest in our year. If I couldn't beat her, then I would fail, which was not an option. I always come out on top, and I was not about to break that streak. I came up with a strategy that was, yes, pure genius. I put black double-sided tape on the bottoms of her shoes right before the race, and she couldn't tell that there was anything on them because the tape was the same color as the soles would usually be. I won the race without a glitch, and felt great, even if Claratrice _did _fail. Some might see it as cheating, but to me it was only another obstacle that I overcame in order to be the best.

"It was just common sense," I say, trying to be modest. "Even though it _was_ pretty efficient." Zooey and I fill Sebastian in on the story, and Apollo tries to contribute with "Yeah" and "That was really cool". When we finish, I join in their game of Who-Can-Make-It while Apollo judges whose trinket is the best. Roe makes lunch for all of us, and too soon it is time for the reaping.

When Sebastian, Zooey, Apollo, Roe, and I reach the District square, the Capitol workers have finished setting up. Draperies with the seal of Panem cover the crumbling exteriors of the buildings and camera crews are perched on the roof of the stage. Roe takes Apollo by the hand and leads him to the crowd of people who are not eligible, and the rest of us go sign in.

I wave goodbye to Sebastian, who has to go the 14-year old male section, as Zooey and I go to the female section of that age group. Our escort, Wordia Dictionaria saunters onto the stage. Everything about her is ridiculous. Since she is the escort for the most intelligent District, she tries to speak in a wise manner and dress accordingly, but only ends up embarrassing herself. Today, her outfit is seems like it is mocking intelligence. Wordia has glittery oversized glasses and a neon purple blouse with a polka dot bowtie. Her pink slacks are flared at the bottom, and her short blue hair is slicked back.

"Salutations, District 3!" she chirps. "Today the population has commenced in the Reaping of an annual game that celebrates our reigning government, the Capitol, enforcing that we must never rebel. Now I present to you the mayor, who is present to read the Treaty of Treason." After the mayor finishes his speech, Wordia returns to the podium. "Now, in lieu of tradition, we shall draw blessed female tribute to compete in this event!" _It's not going to be me, it can't be me. Who will look after Apollo? Yes, I believe that everything will work out the way it should, and there is no reason that it should be me. _

Her cosmetically altered had reaches in to draw a name. "Aurora Jade Stone!" she pronounces. "Aurora, please mount the stage!" My mouth feels dry and I can't breathe. This is all some sort of cruel joke, right? Or I'm probably dreaming. I pinch myself hard but I'm still here. _Remember your plan, _I remind myself. _You have to act sweet and bubbly. No sponsors will want you and no one will want to ally with you if you break down, and then your strategy will be nonexistent. _I feel nothing but grateful for the hours I spent strategizing, andI plaster a smile onto my face. I saunter to the stage and am halfway up the steps when something stops me in my tracks. A small, pathetic voice whimpering, "Mommy! Mommy!"

I feel my resolve starting to deteriorate, and my eyes start to water. That smile is still on my face though. I try to blink back the tears, but nevertheless a lone one escapes. I act as if I am itching my eye in order to quickly wipe it away, and ascend the remaining steps. Apollo's cries have faded now, so I can focus. "Aurora, it is quite an immense honor for you to partake in this year's games." says Wordia. "I offer my congratulations! Gentlemen, you ought to be ecstatic that you are not subject to waiting any longer. It is your turn!"

She draws a slip of paper from the male's reaping ball and unfurls it. "Imishi Kel!" she exclaims. A wiry boy that looks years older than me emerges from the crowd. His face is ashen and pale, but it looks like he is trying to be brave. He walks steadily to the stage and takes his place. "District 3, I am very privileged to give you the tributes for this year. Applaud for Aurora Jade Stone and Imishi Kel!" I am not surprised that no one applauds; they never do. I throw in a wave to the cameras as Imishi and I are herded into the Justice Building to say my goodbyes.

The moment I enter my room, I wipe away my bubbly façade and glumly collapse into the couch. I suppose the place is grand but I am too miserable to notice. I know that my parents won't come, but Apollo, Sebastian, and Zooey will. I almost wish that they don't, as it will be so painful. I reach up to finger the ruffled collar of my dress, and my hand collides with metal. I completely forgot that I was wearing my sand filled clock locket. I have it on all the time so I guess I stopped noticing it.

Sebastian's uncle was a past victor, and he was at Sebastian's house once when I stopped by. He learned that I was one of Sebastian's close friends, and gave me this locket that he acquired on the Victory Tour in District 4. I guess that it will be my token, since I have nothing else.

The doors open and Apollo comes in, trailed by Sebastian and Zooey as expected. I envelop him in my arms and bury my face in his hair. "You t-told me that y-you weren't g-going to be p-picked!" he wailed. "And n-now you m-might not c-come back!" I wish that I could tell him for sure that this was not true, but my plan wasn't fool proof.

"Don't worry," I said. "Whatever happens, you have Seb and Zooey. And I'll probably come back."

Sebastian nods. "Yes," he says solemnly. "Aurora, I promise that I'll take good care of Apollo." Zooey echoes him, and this manages to make me feel the smallest bit better.

Apollo pulls away, and his face is wet with tears. "I'm just remembering your face," he whispers. "Just in case." This one statement almost brings _me _to tears, but hold it back because I can't emerge with a tear stained face.

It is then that I know that dying is not an option; I have to and _will _survive for Apollo. "You won't need to memorize my face," I say, feeling more determined than ever. "You'll see me again." I crack a half smile. "Don't you know I always win?"

"Yeah," Apollo says. "I guess so." Just then, the Peacekeepers barge in to remove them. My moment of bravery disappears and I find myself clutching Apollo. "Goodbye," I say to everyone, and plant a final kiss on Apollo's soft cheek before he is towed away. After they are gone, I realize that I have made up my mind about one thing: the Hunger Games are not only bad, they are the worst things in the world.


	7. Lingering Kiss: D3M

**Author's Note: Hey everyone! I am super sorry for the very prolonged update but I was out of town, contracted Writer's Block, and with it being summer and all... I apologize for that and I will keep a tight schedule from here on out. Also, please do not flame if the scientific stuff I say here is not correct. I would like to thank TheMockingJay'sFlight for this tribute and HeartOfTheThoughtless for the last tribute, where I forgot to mention her. Enjoy! **

**Imishi Kel, Age 17, District 3 Male**

I furrow my brows in focus, contemplating the half finished Gamemaker control panel on the table in front of me. The lighting in the factory is dim, which makes it even more difficult to make progress. _I need to add one more red wire to connect to the second blue wire…wait, no, that would just mess it up. I would add a blue wire instead… but then it would interfere with the transmitter, and that won't do… _Wow, this is the hardest project yet, and they chose to give it to me on Reaping day? I find it hard to focus today, as it's an effort to even _think_ about work when my thoughts are in a million places. I can't wait until I'm an independent inventor, so I can choose when I want to work. _What if I get picked? Who will take care of Iole? No, no, Imishi, you are not to worry yourself about that. Direct your thoughts to the project that your District is depending on you to finish… _

A finger prods my shoulder, and I snap back into the present. I turn around to glare at Maxell, my friend and co-worker. "What?" I ask, irritated at him breaking my concentration.

He just shrugged. "I asked you if you were nervous about the Reaping, but you didn't respond, so I thought you were spacing out." Maxell turned nineteen this year, so he doesn't need to fret over it. Unfortunately, he does like reminding me how I still have another Reaping to go after this one.

My glare stays plastered to my face, with no intention of disappearing. "What do you think, Maxell?" I exclaim loudly. Other employees have turned to stare at my disruptive tone, but I don't care. I don't care in the least. That was an inquisition he could've easily answered himself, without having to bring back my anxiety. "Of _course_ I'm nervous. Even when you were eligible, you couldn't possibly have been as nervous as I am. Because do _you _have a five year old sister who depends on you for everything? Do _you _have a sister who lost both of her parents, so all she has left is you? I don't think you do, so I would advise you to shut up about the whole thing and stop asking stupid questions when the solutions are pathetically obvious. "

When I finish my rant, I realize that the room has gone silent. I feel my cheeks redden and all of my bravado drains out of me. Maxell observes me cautiously while subtly moving his chair away. "Geez, Imishi," he mutters, taken aback. If I were him, I would be taken aback, too. This is the first time I've ever lost control like that. That's not me. I'm supposed to be Imishi Kel, the collected, brave, smart, kind and useful one, not Imishi Kel the temperamental, angry, unapproachable, and outburst prone one.

I look down at my feet, I look up at the ceiling, I look anywhere that will allow me to avoid making contact with him. "Sorry," I mumble. All eyes are trained on me, eagerly awaiting my apology. It is rare that anything worth watching arises in this factory. "I guess I'm just overwhelmed by the whole Reaping thing." My audience seems disappointed with my words, surely thinking, "That was his big apology? Those barely audible, insincere words?"

I turn back to the jumble of wires and chips, not ready to fully confront Maxell or let them see my ashamed face any longer. I am just about to fuse a red and blue wire when a scream rings out. I immediately turn towards the source of the noise to find that it comes from Pixelle Corlisle, a girl who is about my age. I see that the top of one of her fingers is missing, leaving a bloody stump in its place and that she is sitting on the ground. A sharp, jagged blood-stained piece of metal is on the floor at her side, which she obviously severely cut herself with.

She sobs and wails in pain, and I can't stand to watch her like that. I'm not friends with her, but I hate seeing people in suffering. I walk over to her and kneel down beside her. She looks at me and whimpers. I need to appease her. That is my only thought. The whole ordeal with Maxell disappears from my mind, leaving me to focus. I guess this is why they all call me handy, because I always help others without hesitation. I rip off the tattered hem of my shirt and wrap it tightly around her finger to stem the blood flow. Oh well, the shirt was falling apart anyways. It was high time that I got a new one. I tie the fabric in a tight knot but it gets soaked with burgundy in a matter of seconds.

_What to do, what to do? _ I didn't feel comfortable exposing any more of my stomach by using my shirt as makeshift gauze, and of course there wasn't any in this factory. However, I had to do whatever it takes for the greater good, especially now that I have to redeem myself. I take a deep breath, grit my teeth, and yank off my coverage, eliciting gasps from my devoted audience. Ah, how excited they must feel at yet another spectacle starring yours truly, Imishi Kel. I tear the fabric into strips and tie each one around her decapitated finger. Once the last one has been placed, the flow has been reduced to a barely there trickle.

Pixelle had quieted after a few minutes, and now is just staring in a paralyzed state, occasionally wincing. I sit back on my heels and simply watch her, making sure that she is alright. "Thank you." I think I hear these two words, barely a whisper, but I can't be certain. Maybe it's just my imagination playing tricks on me. "Thank you." It's louder this time, not as muffled, and I see Pixelle's lips move with the sounds.

"You're welcome," I say with a smile. I help her to her feet and she doesn't seem to have any ill effects on any other part of her body. "Do you think you can walk home?" Pixelle nods and I guide her to the door. We are just at the exit when a gruff voice behind us hammers my ears.

"Where do you two think you're going?" Pixelle and I slowly turn around to face a Peacekeeper, with one hand on the barrel of his gun. Not good.

I fidget nervously. "I'm not going anywhere; I'm just walking Pixelle here to the door. Her finger got amputated and she needs to go home." I'm expecting a nod of consent, a statement of permission, or at the very least an acknowledging grunt. Instead, all I receive is the same condescending expression.

"Where's the pass?" he asks. "To leave work early, you need a pass. Or else, I can't let you through these doors."

"She's hurt," I say. "She won't be much use if she stays, and if she is to come back to work tomorrow, she must allow her finger to heal for at least a day." The Peacekeeper shakes his head and goes to close the door.

"No pass, no exit." He repeats. "If she can't work, she's required to try. Now, go back to your stations." I feel the hot anger bubbling up inside me, but I push it back down. Temperamental is not my nature; remember, the Maxellincident was the _first _time my anger has gotten the better of me.

"I'm sorry," I state calmly, "but if she works, we're only going to end up with another bloody mess on our hands. It would be in everybody's best interest for her to leave. So, if you don't mind sir, she'll be on her way." Pixelle, who has been silent through this ordeal, touches my arm softly.

"It is okay, Imishi," she whispers. "You'll just get in trouble." The Peacekeeper agrees.

"At least that girl's got some sense." He laughs cruelly. "Defying one of us? Who do you think you are?" It all comes down on me. Hard. The Peacekeeper's right; who _do_ I think I am challenging their decisions? I turn away, shoulders slumped in defeat, with Pixelle at my heels. Its funny how I am more frustrates at this than she is, considering that she's the one who is actually suffering. Maybe it's because I was powerless to change the situation.

The remainder of the work day goes by quickly. I try to assist Pixelle in her project as much as possible, but I have my own complex control panel that I need to complete. When I am released, I haven't gotten the smallest bit close to finishing the device. This adds to my current defeatist attitude, so I walk through the exit feeling beaten down and tired. If this was a regular day, I would go home and sleep, but another obstacle ominously awaits: the Reaping.

On my way home, I pass by my crush Natiba. She is certainly a rarity in District 3 where appearances are concerned; her pallor is tanned and golden, her eyes green, and her hair a beautiful auburn. I'm not so sure that she likes me back, as I am the simple ashen skinned, black haired, wiry teenager that is the norm here. But, I still have hope that she may. Since we talk sometimes, although as no more than friends, today I am going to pull her aside, tell her I need to discuss the math homework, and kiss her. Simple as that. Drastic and full of spontaneity, I know, but sometimes risks pay off, despite the fact that there are not many risk-takers here. How she reacts will tell me how she feels, and will at least allow me to move on from her if she slaps me or shows signs of contempt, which I've seen happen before.

I give her a small wave, and she smiles at me. Wait…is this a Hi-Imishi-good-to-see-you wave or an Imishi-I-really-like you-and-I'm-glad-you-acknowledged-me wave? Who knows, maybe she is in the same situation I am, falling hard for the other but afraid that they don't feel the same way. Well, I'll know after the kiss.

I reach my house, or rather my uncle's house, and step inside. It's a very ramshackle residence, small and fairly unkempt on the inside and out, but it has a cozy feel to it. Thank goodness the government chose my Uncle Telly for Iole and me to live with after both of my parents died.

When I was twelve years of age, and when Iole was just a baby, my mother perished of , or for the weaker mind, a lung disease caused by silica dust. My father was able to support us well given the circumstances of single parenting, but two years later, he was killed in a freak accident at the super computer factory in which he worked. All I remember is seeing the building collapse, and a cold Peacekeeper come to my house, where I was home alone with Iole, to tell me that I was to live with my Uncle Telly. I was angry, but I now realize that people under the same circumstances as I could have it much worse. I could be in the community home, for instance, or out on the streets. Uncle isn't bad at all, despite being poor.

The moment I walk through the door, Iole rushes to me and gives me a hug. I sweep her up and spin her around, which elicits a round of giggles from her. Ah, the oblivion and innocence of the five year old self. It will break my heart when it is time for her to learn that the world isn't some beautiful, happy place, and that what happens today is the prime example. "Imishi!" she squeals.

"Iole!" I say, mocking her tone. This makes her laugh even harder. "What have you been doing all day?"

"I drew a pretty picture!" she says. "Come on, I'll show you!" Iole tugs my hand and leads me to the sparse living room, made up of a distressed coffee table, and two couches with the stuffing beginning to erupt from the cushions. On the table, short colored pencils are scattered around, and a colorful drawing sits in the middle. "See?" she asks. "It's a picture of you and me!" And I do see the resemblance, although confined to the color of our hair and skin, since she obviously can't make precise facial features.

"Wow, Iole!" I exclaim. "That's great! Did you take secret art lessons behind my back? How else could you learn how to draw like that?" My high accolades elate her, and she jumps up and down. "Did you eat lunch yet?" I ask. She shakes her head. Of course she didn't. Uncle Telly is kind and welcoming, but he expects us to take care of ourselves. He doesn't make meals for us, or buy us clothes or other necessities. That's fine by me, as long as we are provided with shelter.

We go to the kitchen and I make her a simple sandwich. I had the same thing during my lunch break at the factory. Rough rye bread is the cheapest food, and buying peanut butter isn't that hard either. It's all I can manage for lunch with my meager salary. Iole is just finishing eating when Uncle Telly comes through the door.

"Hi, Uncle," I say politely. "How was work?" Uncle's job is cleaning the products that other factories make before they are sent to the Capitol. Not all occupations involve manufacturing gadgets, even though we're the technology District. He lacks the brains that are needed to invent and create, so that's why he doesn't earn much.

"Alright," he grunts while cleaning the soles of his shoes at the mat. "Today we had to clean those shower panels. Lots of little nooks and crannies that was full of dust and grime." He taps his chin thoughtfully. "Boy, isn't it the Reaping today? Haven't you gotta get going soon?" I look at the old clock on the wall and find that, yes, it is almost time for the reaping.

I nod. "I'll need you to take Iole and wait with her in the ineligible section," I say. "I have to go get ready."

I run off to the small room that Iole and I have to share in order to get dressed. I find a white, simply cut shirt devoid of any grease marks and a pair of grey slacks. They will have to do, but are nothing compared to the blouses, suits, and crisp pants of Districts 1, 2 and 4. I then pull on the beautifully crafted leather necklace from my mother, which will be my token if I am reaped. I never go to a Reaping without it. It has a silver pendant of the letter _I_, to signify my name. The piece of jewelry feels as if it carries around a part of her soul, and has helped me cope with her death.

I check my reflection in the grimy mirror leaning against the dresser, hoping to see that my appearance has been magically altered since I last checked. I am heavily disappointed, as the same plain boy is still staring back at me. I finger comb my thin black hair, but it makes me look like more of a, um, geek. The only way Natiba will crush on me is for my personality.

I walk back to the room where Iole and Uncle are waiting. We file out into the sunshine and begin our journey to the square. "Where are we going?" exclaims Iole excitedly.

"Oh, it's just something we have to do," I say mildly. "After this, I'll get you some new colored pencils if you're good."

"Yay!" she screams, and starts skipping the rest of the way. It doesn't take much to distract a five year old. We reach the square with time to spare, and the camera crews have not even finished setting up. I have to get my blood drawn, and I wince. I remind myself that Pixelle today had it much worse. I stand and silently wait until the Reaping starts. The people around me chatter nervously, but I don't have many friends besides Maxell.

I know that it is time when our escort, Wordia Dictionaria, bounces onto the stage. I almost laugh out loud at what she's wearing. It seems that she is trying to appear as intelligent, but instead looks the opposite. Oversized glasses, neon blouse and slacks, a printed _bow tie _for heaven's sake, and blue slicked back hair. I nearly pity the Capitol citizens sometimes, since they are just so clueless. However, all it takes is to think about the hundreds of children they've killed and all of my pity immediately vanishes.

What is even more hilarious is how she tries to speak in a wise manner. Just watching her is entertainment. "Salutations, District 3," she announces. She begins her spiel about why we are here, identical to the previous years. The mayor reads the Treaty of Treason which is so boring that I yawn. When he finishes, Wordia returns to the podium. "Now, in lieu of tradition, we shall draw the blessed female tribute to compete in this event!" This is where I tense. _Not Natiba, please don't be Natiba…And on second thought, not even Pixelle, who can't compete with her finger…nobody that I know… _

"Aurora Jade Stone! Aurora, please mount the stage!" I can't place the name, but when I see the ginger haired, pretty girl coming forward, I vaguely recognize her. I think I've seen her around town sometimes with her little brother, though no more than that. I hear a small voice calling out, "Mommy, mommy!" It comes from a boy no more than six…her brother. My heart sinks and I can only process how sad that is, because it reminds me so much of Iole. Aurora pauses and…is that a tear I see sliding down her pale cheek?

My heart pounds when Wordia says that it is the boys' turn. My only thought is, _Not me, not me, not me._ She draws a name and unfurls it with flourish. "Imishi Kel!"

I am dead. Those words are my death sentence. A ton of bricks is dropped on me, or so it seems. My life flashes before my eyes, all the things I've done and planned to do. _Iole, she depends on me, no, someone volunteer. Uncle can't take care of her alone. Wait…Natiba! _This thought pulls me up short. I know that it's silly that something so unimportant could really make me hysterical, but it does. _And how about Iole…_

_Now I've done it, _I reprimand myself. _I've gone crazy and any hope of sponsors is down the drain. _I'm anticipating people backing away from me nervously, but to my surprise, everyone just stares at me expectantly. I realize that my fit was only on the inside, and I've appeared to be standing her this whole time. Thank goodness. I can't afford to lose my composure. I need to try my very hardest to get back to everyone I love, especially Iole, and going mad won't help the cause. I put on a brave face and make my way to the stage, fervently praying I'm not as pale as I feel.

Wordia presents us, and the crowd, as usual, doesn't applaud. Aurora and I are herded into the Justice Building to say our goodbyes. The moment I am deposited into the room, I start making plans, as there is _no_ time to lose.

Hmmm…I need allies, so I can use the fact that we both have younger siblings that we desperately love to make a connection with Aurora. Maybe she'll accept an alliance request. In the arena, I can set traps since I work in technology to kill and electrify my opponents. Yes, avoid direct confrontation and use the traps to do my dirty work. So now I have to think of what kind of snares to make…

The doors burst open and Maxell runs in. "Iole isn't coming," he says without skipping a beat. "Your uncle doesn't think it's a good idea to…you know… for her to have to say goodbye." I want to cry out in grief. When I told Iole to go with Uncle to the ineligible section…that may be the last time I ever speak to her. Who am I kidding? That _will_ be the last time I ever speak to her. I internally laugh dryly at my stupid plans. How could I think that my meager traps will be enough to win? Maxell must see my distress, and shakes me hard. "Imishi, you are going to come home. You hear me? You are not giving up. You're smart; you will survive. Set traps, blow things up, you do whatever it takes."

"I already thought of that," I say glumly. "It's not enough."

"Well, it has to be!" he exclaims defiantly. "How do you think the other District 3 victors have won?"

I shake my head. "I'm not like them, Maxell." I look down at my hands. "I may be smart, but I'm not a genius."

"Yes, you are!" Maxell says loudly. "You're the best inventor in the factory; you know how to manipulate wires and devices. You can come home!" I'm still not convinced. He softens his voice. "And I'm sorry about the factory thing. It was my fault, not yours." The Peacekeepers barge in, signaling that Maxell's time is up. They begin to tow him out. "Bye, Imishi," he screams. "Remember, you are coming home!" The doors shut behind him.

In less than a minute, the doors reopen, and Natiba comes in. _Natiba comes in!_ I double take to make sure I'm not hallucinating, but she is there, clear as the sun. She rushes over to the chair I am sitting in, looks at me, and…_kisses me._ I am taken by surprise, and don't react at first. Then I get into the groove of things. My lips moving against hers, her lemony breath, the rhythm to it. I forget the reaping, my imminent doom, the depression that had filled my being just moments ago. Everything is put into this one moment.

Natiba slowly pulls away and steps back, as if wondering what she just had done. I don't care if she is having second thoughts; all that matters is that she felt passionate enough to kiss me in the first place.

"You have a little sister, right? Iole?" she says softly. I watch her lips moving; lips that have met mine. I nod. "I'll take care of her…" she blushes. "If you want, I mean."

I am hasty to respond. "Of course," I say. "Thank you." She looks like she wants to say more, but decides against is. She gives me one last lingering gaze before darting from the room. Without her there, all of my problems return. I'm not in a world of first kisses and romance anymore; I'm stuck in the world of utmost evil. I try to focus on strategizing, I really do, but my thoughts keep floating back to one thing: the kiss.

I can't lose my focus, I can't. Not if I want to get back to Iole, Maxell, and Natiba…_Natiba. No, Imishi, no, do not think about her…Natiba. _


	8. Not Your Typical Career: D4F

**Author's Note: Hey everyone! This update took forever, and I can't make any promises that the other updates will be quicker. Don't worry, we are making progress. On the bright side, we've conquered another District, and are onto D4! I appreciate you guys sticking with this story, and pretty please review! I would like to inform you that I am working on a 24 author 24 tribute collaboration called Thirteen, so I would recommend checking it out. Also, I have a new poll up on my profile so vote please! I would like to thank Jakey121 for this tribute. Enjoy!**

**Valeria Ivory, Age 16, District 4**

"Valeria! Valeria!" I awake to the sensation of a weight on my chest and the erratic pulsing of the bed beneath me. My eyes slowly crack open, and I stifle a scream when I see a freckled face inches away from my own.

"Aghh!" I yelp, trying to push the person that I assume is my sister Amethyst off of my body. I succeed easily and find that I am correct; it is her. She is sprawled out on my bed giggling, while her twin Danielle is bouncing on the springy mattress. I glare at both of them, but my anger doesn't last long. My mouth breaks into a small smile, and I launch myself at both of them. My fingers wiggle their way onto their neck and underneath their arms, which are the most ticklish places. They laugh uncontrollably, and after about a minute I grant them mercy, allowing them to collapse. They recover hastily though, and climb off my bed, likely preparing to run if I attempt to tickle attack them again.

"Now have you learned your lesson?" I say sternly, but the playful glint in my eyes tells the twins that my authoritative tone is artificial. "Why did you wake me up?

"Mommy told us to. It's time for breakfast." Danielle replies and they both run squealing out of the room. I glance at the clock on my bedside table and groan. 8:00 already? I can't afford to sleep in this late, particularly on Reaping day. My heart sinks to my feet as the memory of the present Reaping floods back into my mind. All I want to do is dive back under the covers and indulge in the warmth of the blanket wrapped around me.

Instead, I scan my eyes around my beloved, worn down room. From the battered wooden dresser covered in little trinkets to the moth eaten, gauzy curtains, this is where I grew up. And now it may be the last time I will ever wake up here, in my own bed in my own house. I contemplate this new realization sadly for a few minutes, still sitting on my mattress with the thin quilt covering my lap.

I'm never this emotional and nervous on Reaping day, but this time it's different. In previous times, there was always the very _slight_ possibility of me being chosen. However, the female tribute will definitely be me this time. I have decided to volunteer for the Hunger Games, and I cannot turn back on my decision.

Of course, I certainly do not want to volunteer. It's never been my dream to be in the Games like most Careers, and I don't believe they are necessary or just in the least. I may find them entertaining, but that by no means translates into my approving of them or liking all the death and blood. If I were to win, I wouldn't care about the fame, or the fortune, or even the guaranteed power that will accompany me as victor. Well, maybe the fortune, but not so I can look down on everyone with my wealth, simply just to support my family. We are not very well-off in comparison to most here in District 4, and I desperately want to change that…change everything. Change the fact that my parents work themselves to the bone catching fish, change the fact that people ridicule me for my family's current status, change the fact that Danielle and Amethyst come home every day from school and wistfully describe their friend's pretty dresses that they will never be able to have. Becoming victor will reverse all of those problems.

I drag myself out of bed and choose a simple pair of gray pants and a gray shirt. I direct myself to train every day, and the Reaping is no exception. This may be the last time I will ever step foot in the Training Center, so there is an even greater need to practice my skills. I throw my dark red hair into a careless ponytail and don't give a glance into the mirror. There will be time for obsessing over my appearance later.

I tread down the narrow hallway of our creaky, old house and emerge in the small kitchen, which also houses the dining table. My family is already seated, munching on burnt toast and scrambled eggs. My mother looks up from her meal to shoot me a look of disapproval. She despises tardiness. "Good morning," I say pleasantly. "Sorry I'm late, but I had to…I was just really tired, that's all." Mother smiles, satisfied with my apology. I am about to pull out my chair when she speaks again.

"Are you sure that you want to wear that to the Reaping?" she asks. "I mean, I'm no proponent of the Capitol or those dreadful Games, but you have your one good dress and…don't you want to look a bit nice? And my goodness, you could take care of your hair better, or at least brush it out a little."

"Don't worry, Mother," I reassure her. "I want to…um…" I must quickly conjure up a lie as to what I am doing after breakfast that I am unable to do in my fancy Reaping clothes. My family cannot know that I secretly train, for the reason that my parents insist upon the fact that they are indeed more affluent than they actually are. They like to think that they are quite well-off and do not need any form of charity from anyone, let alone their daughter. They would wholeheartedly disapprove of my plans to volunteer in order to give them more money, and would see it as my not trusting them to provide for us. "I wanted to have a run by the ocean before the Reaping, which would dirty my dress. I'll change into afterwards."

My mother nods and I take a seat, focusing on the steaming plate of food before me. As I eat, I can't help but overhear the hushed conversation my parents are having across the table. "I was watching television last night, and Galerius Flickerman was interviewing the new Head Gamemaker, Ordinata Crane," Father says. "Apparently she is a descendant of another Head, who was the Gamemaker of the Games that incited the second rebellion. She seems pretty ruthless to me, and said that she will make sure these will be the most brutal Games yet. Pray Valeria doesn't get picked." My heart sinks in guilt and fear. Guilty for choosing the last fate my parents would select for me; fearful for being a tribute in a Games where the Head is more bloodthirsty and murderous than most.

"Don't worry," Mother says. "She didn't take any tesserae, so she only has five slips out of thousands. Even if she doesn't get chosen, someone will likely volunteer. And of course she won't; she's too sensible to fall under the influence of the rest of our District." I swallow hard and remind myself that my decision is for the greater good of our family, no matter how much my parents won't agree. _They don't know how much this will help them. They don't know much it will help _us.

My sisters, who have been silent other throughout breakfast, divert their attention to me. "What are Mommy and Daddy talking about?" Danielle asks in a characteristically loud whisper. Apparently they have been listening in on my parents' conversation, as have I. "Are they talking about the _Hunger Games?" _She speaks these words with reverent horror. Ever since they were toddlers, my parents have enforced to them that the Games are wrong, like they did to me. They don't fully know what they are, but just know that they are bad.

"Yes, they are," I reply. "But you shouldn't eavesdrop; its rude and bad manners." This comment is rather hypocritical on my part, since I had just committed the same offence as them.

"Okay, Valeria," they chorus, and return to eating quietly. I hastily finish my eggs, wanting to begin training as soon as possible. I stand up and deposit my plate in the sink.

"I should get going on my run," I announce. I make my way to the front door, slipping on my shoes.

"Don't be late coming home!" Mother calls.

"Alright," I shout back, and step out into the sunshine.

The Training Center is not far from my house, so it only takes about ten minutes to walk there. The moment I walk through the heavy oak double doors, I inhale the familiar scent of lemon floor cleaner and take in the assorted weapons. _The last time I'll ever practice here. _A bubbly, cheerful voice interrupts my thoughts. "Hey Valeria!" My best friend Coralline waves me over to the spear area, which is the choice weapon for both of us. Her shoulder length blond hair bounces cheerily and I can't help but feel a wave of envy. I finger my straight red hair with contempt.

"Hey," I say. I stride over and lift the longest spear. I weigh it in my hand, then casually chuck it at the nearest target. I don't even pause to check where it landed. Bull's-eye, no doubt. The art of spears runs through every part of me, enabling me to accurately throw at the slightest notice. Coralline does the same, but hers lands in the ring just outside the middle. She is skilled, but not as skilled as I. She swears under her breath. "Don't worry," I say. "You're not the one volunteering today." I realize what information I had let slip and cover my mouth. I hadn't meant to tell anyone, even her. I didn't want to deal with explaining my choice, or facing the disapproval.

Coralline, who had picked up another spear, promptly drops it. The loud clatter echoes through the vast building. "Wait…what?" she exclaims. "Why?" She would never volunteer; she dislikes the Hunger Games more than I do. Her parents force her to train, wanting the social status of having a child who could possibly be victor. Every year, she tells them that she desperately tried but someone beat her to the stage.

I take a deep breath. "Well, you know my family is kind of poor," I begin. "And how my parents refuse charity on that matter, so I decided that I would…you know… Give them more money. Because victor is the wealthiest position there is. And I don't want to, I hate the Games, but I feel like I'm obliged to help them out."

Coralline turns ghastly pale and her eyes widen to a point I had not thought possible. "But…you can't be sure that you will win!" she exclaims. "What if you die? Have you ever thought about that? Then your parents will be left with even less than before, and I…I'll lose my best friend. Can't you change your mind, or at least rethink it?"

I shake my head. "No, I can't. I don't want all of that training behind their backs to amount to nothing. I would be a coward to turn back now, after all I've done to prepare for it." I clear my throat. "And of course I'll come home, there's no question in my mind and there should be no question in yours." I say this with more conviction than I feel. Coralline must comprehend that this is her queue to stop discussing this topic, so we continue the rest of training in either silence or lame attempts at small talk. Before I know it, it is almost time for the Reaping.

I rush through the door of my house, having only a very limited amount of time to get ready. I poke my head into the living room, where Mother and Father sit, watching television. Mother notices my presence and gets up from the tattered sofa. "Valeria, where have you been?" she exclaims in exasperation. "You told me you wouldn't be late!"

"It's alright, I can get ready quickly," I say, deftly sidestepping her question. Before she can utter another word, I run to my room and shut the door. I only have one dress formal enough for the occasion, so I don't have to take the time agonizing over what to wear. It's the light blue of the sky with a simple shape and cut, made out of stiff cotton. I slip it on over my head and put on my white leather flats. I brush out my long hair, straightening out all the frizz and tangles. It falls to my torso, and I suppose that it could be as pretty as bouncy, golden locks. My slightly tanned skin glows, and my green eyes are bright against my complexion. I give one last look in the mirror and go back to the living room.

"Let's go," I say. My parents look surprised that I am finished already, and stand up.

"Valeria, could you go get your sisters?" Father asks. "They're in their room." I nod and pad over to their joint bedroom, just a door away from my own. I burst in, not bothering to knock. Amethyst and Danielle sit on the floor, scribbling with crayons on paper.

"Come on," I tell them. "We have to leave for the Reaping." They drop their crayons and gasp.

"Today is the _Reaping?" _ Amethyst says. "Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh," Danielle echoes.

"Uh-oh is right," I say. "And it will be even more of an uh-oh if I'm late, so we have to leave now." They stand up obediently and file out of the room.

My family and I walk to the Reaping together, as we have every year I have been eligible. Coralline, who lives nearby, comes to join us as we near the District square. She falls in step next to me and we lock eyes. I can deduct that she is silently asking, _Have you changed your mind? _I give an almost imperceptible shake of my head. Her eyes change from questioning to pleading, but any amount persuasive words will not alter my decision.

Coralline looks away, obviously not content with my response. The rest of the way progresses with no further interaction between us. Nervous energy is building up inside me; the frightened part of my brain tells me to not volunteer, the courageous part screams the opposite. I don't know why I'm internally arguing with myself; there is no way I am backing down.

We arrive at the last minute, with the Reaping about to begin. Coralline and I hastily sign in with the Capitol attendants and squeeze into the 16 year old section. I exchange a smile with my other friends Marina and Angela, and divert my attention to the stage.

In a blur of colors, our escort Alea Cortex flounces into view. I want to shield my eyes, as her getup is so atrocious and foreign. This year, she sports a cerulean blue, ruffled dress that drops into a deep, disturbingly revealing V-neck. What seems to be a bright pink fishing net is draped over it in a shawl like fashion, and seashells painted in unnatural shades are scattered over the outfit. Her neon blue hair is piled up in a beehive style, adorned with strands of kelp.

"Welcome, District 4! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" she exclaims, boasting that foolish Capitol accent. I cross my heart; it could make even the most serious subject sound humorous. But there is no way I will smile now; I am growing increasingly fidgety as it draws closer to the actual drawing of the names. "Aren't you excited? Today is the day that two very lucky children will get the glory of representing our District!" The crowd roars and cheers, and Alea grins, obviously pleased at getting this stellar reaction. "I know you all just can't wait to begin," she continues. "But first we have our mayor reading the Treaty of Treason!"

Mayor Naylor appears and starts to recite the Treaty of Treason. Ever since my first Reaping, I have completely tuned out during this. I assume most people do. We have to hear it every year, and it becomes more than tedious. I don't pay attention until Alea's voice penetrates my thoughts. "Alright, here we go!" She says. "Ladies first, as always!" _It's almost time, it's almost time, it's almost time… _She trots over to the glass Reaping ball that houses the girl's names. She draws one out with flourish and unfurls it. "Marlene Huriah! Marlene come on up to the stage!"

A frail, young girl appears, shaking and pale. At this sight, I sense that my choice to volunteer is even more meaningful. I take a deep breath and step forward. It seems like the sea of people part for me to pass them, acknowledging my motive. I wait until everyone has taken notice of me before I state my intentions. "My name is Valeria Ivory, and I volunteer to be the female tribute of District 4." I say this in a calm, confident voice, a lot calmer than I feel. _Oh my goodness, I actually did it. I actually _did_ it…_

I vaguely hear shrieks and cries off anguish from my family. These noises, these sounds, they nearly cause me to break. They nearly cause me to say, "Actually, on second thought, I think I'll just let Marlene take my place and you can all pretend you never saw me." I firmly remind myself that this is for _their_ own good, and that it will all work out perfectly. I steel my emotions and mount the stage.

"Why, look at that, a volunteer!" Alea says in a giddy voice. She clamps my hand in hers and gives it a good shake. I can't help but see the astonishing contrast between my tanned hand and her strikingly pale, surgically altered one. "Things are really picking up now! Boys, you have patiently waited, so now it's your turn!" I am still jittery from my moment in the spotlight, but I am quite interested to see who will be either my ally or my opponent.

Alea draws a name from the ball and reads it. "Caspian Moore!" she announces. "Congratulations, Caspian!" A boy that looks to be around my age emerges, with wavy ebony hair and huge blue eyes that carry a kind of innocence. He sturdily built but not muscular, and is very tanned. Startling enough, he doesn't wear the same fearful expression that most tributes that are reaped wear. Instead, he has this rather captivating smile on his face, his pearly white teeth glinting in the sun. I have to admit he's gorgeous, and will surely gain sponsors easily.

When Caspian is standing next to me on the stage, Alea closes the event. "We have two fine teenagers that will likely do well in the Games! Give a hand for this year's tributes and we'll see you next year!" Everyone applauds and Caspian outstretches his hand to me. _What? _Is he implying that we should…? Oh. We're supposed to shake hands. I grip his and quickly force it up and down, then take it away in repulsion. His hand was disgustingly damp and sweaty. I wipe it away on my dress and wonder if he really is so keen on being in the Games after all. Sweaty hands are a trait of nervousness and unease.

Caspian and I are ushered into the Justice Building, where we are to say our goodbyes. I ceased to figure out what I will say to my family, and am now agonizing over this. When I arrive in my room, though, I have to gasp in awe. Luxury is something I have rarely known, and there is no other way to describe this place but luxurious. Every item in this room has no doubt been hand-manufactured, down to the ornately carved table and patterned velvet curtains. I sit down on the plush sofa, covered in a material I can't even think to name.

As I wait for my visitors to come, I waver between choices regarding my goodbye to my parents. I'm stuck between telling them my motives or letting them remain a mystery. Before I am able to settle on one option, the doors open and my family comes in. Mother and Father's eyes are not angry, just sad and tired. The twins are looking around as if confused, not fully comprehending what's going on. We all just look at each other, until Mother breaks the silence. "Why, Valeria? Why?" she says softly, her voice so full of pain. Tears fill her eyes and once one is released, sliding slowly down her cheek, a dam is broken. They fall endlessly, and I even see Father wipe something off of his face. No, it's just my imagination. Father never cries.

Danielle tugs on Mother's shirt. "Why are you crying?" she asks. Mother just shakes her head and the tears come down harder.

Through her tears, she still manages to speak. "Y-you haven't a-answered m-me yet, Valeria!" she sobs. "Y-you g-go and run off t-to v-volunteer, and I d-don't even know w-why! T-the least w-we all d-deserve is an explanation!" I direct my gaze toward the heavily carpeted floor. My eyes trace the intricate designs rapidly, as if that will make the inquisitions disappear.

"You heard your mother," Father says. "Answer her!" He must realize how uncomfortable I am, and adds a "Please" after a couple seconds. I finally look up, and do what no one expects me to do. Hug her. I fold my arms around Mother and bury my face in hair.

"I'm so sorry I had to do this," I mutter, and I truly am sorry. This goodbye is as heart-wrenching for me as it is for them. I pull away and look each of my family members in the eye, even Amethyst and Danielle. "I don't think I can tell you why I did what I did right now, but when I win, which I _will, _I'll explain myself. Now just…isn't the time or the place for it."

Mother sniffs and tries to dab away her tears with her handkerchief. "I guess we'll just have to trust you," she says. "And trust that you'll come home."

Father nods. "You're a determined girl; that's how we raised you. I know you can do it." He smiles a little. "But we'll be waiting for that explanation of yours, honey. Don't forget."

I smile back. "I won't," I say. We all suddenly remember the twin's presence. They both look frustrated, since no one bothered to answer their question. I kneel down so I'm face to face with them. "I'm going to be gone for a little bit, in the Hunger Games," I tell them. Their mouths drop open with surprise.

"You were _reaped?" _Danielle asks. I don't want them to know I volunteered until she's older, so I agree.

"Yes, I was." I say. "But it's not a bad thing, I promise." Right when I say these words, the Peacekeepers barge in to take them away.

"Goodbye, Valeria," Mother says, with Father following. They plant kisses on my temple and walk out, my sisters in tow.

"Goodbye!" I call after them, but they are already gone. I can predict who my next visitor will be, and sure enough, Coralline walks through the door next.

Instead of coming in entirely, she lingers in the doorway. She gives a lopsided half grin. "So you did it, huh?" she says. "You actually went through with it." She shakes her head in disbelief. "You know, I didn't really believe you would, to be honest, but I've learned from this experience to never doubt your best friend." I laugh at this comment, I laugh a lot more than this comment warranted, but we both needed something to distract us from the serious matter at hand.

Coralline abruptly strides to the chair I am sitting in and plants her hands on my shoulders. This stops my giggles immediately. "Listen," she says. "You _will _make it back. I know you doubt yourself, although you act like you don't. Best friends can sense these things. What was that you said to me earlier? About how you didn't doubt yourself, so I shouldn't either? Now it's the other way around, and it's your turn to believe me." Her certain words give me strength somehow.

"I know," I say. "I do believe you, and I will _not _doubt myself." She lightly punches me in the shoulder.

"That's my girl," she says. She squeezes me tightly, so I almost can't breathe, but I'm grateful for the sense of security she lends me.

"And if I don't win," I murmur into her hair, "you have my permission to kill me." This sick joke that I make, for lack of things to say, causes us to double over with laughter. Not the fake, dry laugh I had earlier, but a genuine one. We chuckle so hard that we don't notice the Peacekeeper who comes in to signal the end of her time. I only perceive his attendance when I see Coralline moving away from me and no longer hear her laughter.

"Bye, Valeria," she says as she is pulled out of the room. "Your-" Her words are cut off by the slamming of the door, and I am alone. I don't anticipate any more visitors, which makes me partially relieved. All I can do is repeat one thought: _I won't doubt myself._


End file.
